


Boku no Sukinahito

by daydreamer1227



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Hurt Akaashi Keiji, I'm sorry Akaashi, Injury, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot Collection, Pining, Protective Bokuto Koutarou, Romance, Violence, Worried Bokuto Koutarou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25789036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamer1227/pseuds/daydreamer1227
Summary: Akaashi Keiji is Bokuto Koutarou's favorite person. Bokuto-san just might be Akaashi's favorite, too.A series of unrelated bokuaka oneshots. I bring the angst and I bring it hard.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 236





	1. Just This Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Akaashi," said Bokuto, his voice wrecked. "You're scaring me. You're not okay. What happened?"  
> How could he tell Bokuto, whose parents loved him so much, that his own parents had kicked him out?

The door that slammed in his face wasn't a surprise. The click of the lock, however, was.

They'd locked him out.

_ They'd locked him out. _

The bite of the winter night air settled into Keiji's bones, his thin, cotton pajama pants and tee doing nothing to protect him from the cold.

His fingers shook as he tried the door.

He felt numb.

Where was he supposed to go?

Should he… Should he wait outside? Would they let him back in, eventually? His homework, his clothes, his phone, his wallet, everything he owned, it was all upstairs in his room.

How was he supposed to go to school?

How was he supposed to sleep?

_ Where was he supposed to go? _

His eyes stung.

His bare feet burned from the cold. How low was the temperature supposed to drop tonight?

Keiji hugged his arms tightly around himself and knocked. " _O-Okaasan_ ," he called for his mother through the door, his voice wavering. " _Okaasan!"_ Nothing. "It's cold," he whimpered, leaning his forehead against the wood.

Keiji wasn't sure what his mother thought about the whole situation, but she hadn't tried to stop her husband, not when he'd shouted, not when he'd raised a hand against her own son, not when he'd shoved him bodily out of the house, and not now, as said son pleaded through the locked door.

He couldn't stay there. He'd freeze.

But where could he go?

He couldn't call anyone. He couldn't look up directions. He didn't have _shoes_ , for Christ's sake.

His body started moving, muscle memory taking over when the panic rendered his mind useless. Rocks bit into his feet as he jogged along the cold, wet pavement, but the longer he ran, the more the pain of it dissolved into numbness as shivers wracked his body.

It was late enough that the streets were mostly empty. If Keiji had been in his right mind, he might have been scared to be out past midnight without a phone, but the haze of cold softened his panic to the point that he wasn't sure what mattered at all anymore. Not volleyball, not school, certainly not himself…

Light surprise was all he could garner when he found himself standing at the Bokuto family's doorstep. It made sense. There was really nowhere else he could have gone. There was no one else he would have gone to. 

Keiji raised his hand to knock–

And stopped.

It was late. The Bokutos were most definitely sleeping. Bokuto's parents had to work in the morning. His siblings had school. Bokuto himself had gone to bed hours ago–Keiji knew, because Bokuto had called him, half-awake, to tell him about the spider that had been in his bathroom, and that he couldn't sleep, because _he was so fast, Akaashi, he could be anywhere, he could be in my bed, Akaaaaashi!_ Keiji had stayed on the phone with him for over an hour, convincing him _the spider is not in your bed, Bokuto-san, he's probably gone back to his own home by now to sleep for the night,_ which had led to a talk about whether the spider had a family waiting for him, and whether his spider-wife had caught a fly that day. Bokuto had named the spider Haruma, and his spider-wife Kayo, and his spider-son Ren had a web-weaving contest coming up and they were all so proud–

Bokuto had fallen asleep on the phone.

He was probably happily dreaming about his new spider-friend and his family, and Keiji was loath to wake him. To put a worried frown on that face that should always, always be smiling.

Keiji choked on a sob. He wondered how long he'd been crying.

He raised his hand to the door again. It was all right, wasn't it, for him to be selfish, just this once? To need Bokuto?

Just this once…

Keiji knocked hard, afraid that if nobody heard him, he wouldn't have the courage to knock again.

He waited, violently shivering, teeth chattering, breaths hitching–

A light turned on inside. Footsteps. The door opened, revealing Michiko Bokuto, Bokuto's mother. Any signs of lingering tiredness vanished as she saw Keiji, and her eyes widened. "Akaashi-kun?" she said, horrified.

Akaashi tried to apologize for intruding, but all that came out was another hoarse sob.

"Oh my goodness," she said, ushering him inside. "Jiro!" she called. "Kou!"

Bokuto's father was a big man, but a gentle giant. He ran into the room in his pajamas, frantic at the sound of his wife's voice. 

"He's like ice," said Michiko-san as she wrapped an arm around Keiji's shoulders, rubbing them to warm him up.

"Blankets!" Jiro-san announced before racing around the house, having seemingly forgot where they kept the blankets, or indeed, anything at all, as he opened various cabinets and cupboards, swearing when he came up with anything and everything except blankets.

"The bedroom closet," said Michiko-san, pulling Keiji to the couch. Jiro took off.

A familiar whine came from down the hall. "What's going on?" The third-year caught sight of Keiji and froze. Then, " _AKAAAAAASHII!_ " Bokuto, his hair limp from sleep, scrambled forward, vaulting over the arm of the couch, getting all up in Keiji's personal space as he touched his face and flinched back at the cold. "You're freezing! What happened? What's wrong? Are you okay? You're crying! Akaaaaashii!" He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, his hands flitting around him, like he was afraid to touch him.

Jiro ran back in, his arms full. "I've got blankets!"

A mound of blankets was dropped over Keiji's head.

" _Outousan!_ " cried Bokuto. "You buried him! I'll save you, Akaashi!"

Bokuto dug Akaashi out of the blankets and tucked him to his chest, arms wrapping protectively around him and Akaashi let himself be held (just this once), selfishly craving the warmth.

Michiko wrapped the blankets around them, cocooning them in a burrito of soft, heavy fabrics.

It took a long while for Akaashi's shivering to calm down, even with Bokuto's intense body heat and the hot tea Michiko brought him thawing him from the inside.

Keiji had managed enough of a grasp on his emotions that he was no longer crying, but the shame welled up inside him, nonetheless. He turned his face into Bokuto's chest.

"Kou," said Michiko softly, "we'll be in the kitchen. Call us if you need us, okay?"

Keiji felt Bokuto nod and heard their receding footsteps. He slumped slightly once they were alone. " _Gomenasai_ , Bokuto-san," he said, quiet. "I'm okay now."

"Akaashi," said Bokuto, his voice wrecked. "You're scaring me. You're not okay. What happened?"

How could he tell Bokuto, whose parents loved him so much, that his own parents had kicked him out?

Bokuto held him tighter.

Akaashi sniffed and sat up straight, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Bokuto-san."

"That's not what I meant!" Bokuto reached up and ran his fingers feather-light over Keiji's cheek where his father had hit him. It was tender to the touch. "Your face, Akaashi…"

Keiji wondered how bad it looked. "I'm sorry for the trouble, but could I stay here? Just for tonight. Please," he said, looking down, fiddling with his fingers. 

"Of course, Akaashi!" said Bokuto. "Whatever you need! Stay a week! Stay forever! I'll take care of you, I promise!" 

Akaashi managed a small smile. "I'm not sure your parents would agree to that."

"Of course they would! They love you!" 

At this point, Bokuto's parents might love Keiji more than his own parents did. Shit. That was depressing.

A tear escaped, and Bokuto looked heartbroken. "Akaashi… I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

"My parents..." said Keiji, not sure where the words were coming from, or why they were falling out of his mouth without his permission. "They kicked me out." 

Bokuto started crying. "Why would they do that?"

Keiji hesitated. He knew Bokuto wouldn't judge him, but…

Hadn't he thought his parents would love him no matter what? Sure, they weren't open or physically affectionate like the Bokutos, but he'd thought they’d loved him. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe they'd never loved him. Maybe he'd never been a son they could love, and this had been the last straw. The last brick of disappointment on the pile. 

"I don't like girls, Bokuto-san," said Keiji, deciding to get it over with. If Bokuto had a problem with it, best to be kicked out now, before his body was completely thawed from the cold.

Bokuto stared, confused, his brow furrowed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Keiji felt himself relax. "Everything," he said softly.

"You mean they kicked you out because you don't like girls?" Bokuto asked. "Akaashi, is that why they hit you?"

Keiji nodded. He didn't tell him that the reason the subject had come up at all was because of his hour-long phone call with Bokuto. His father had asked questions and made accusations. Akaashi had only been honest. 

"But they're your parents," said Bokuto, struggling to wrap his head around it. "They're supposed to love you."

"Well, they don't," said Keiji, his voice breaking. He dropped his face into his hands. "Bokuto-san, I don't know what to do. I can't– I _can't–_ " He couldn't breathe. 

Strong arms wrapped around him. A string of gentle murmurs paraded in his ears, not stopping even when Keiji had calmed down enough to hear it. "–got you. It's okay, Akaashi. You have so many people who love you. The team loves you. I love you. And I've got you. You're okay. You're okay, Akaashi."

Keiji didn't have the energy to cry anymore. He didn't have the energy to do anything, so he just settled into Bokuto's warmth and kind words because in the morning, he'd have to deal with everything for real and just for now, just this once, he was going to be selfish and enjoy this moment. 

"–love you too, Bokuto-san," he muttered, his energy waning as exhaustion took him.

So he didn't see Bokuto's face turn bright red. 

Akaashi looked so sad, even asleep. Bokuto wiped his eyes, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart because _now was not the time–_

Except–

_ Except– _

_ ‘Love you too, Bokuto-san.’  _

Bokuto carefully disentangled himself from the bundle of blankets and gently lowered Akaashi's upper body to the couch. He made his way into the kitchen feeling the strangest mix of elated and devastated.

"How is he?" asked his mom.

"Do we need to call someone?" asked his dad.

"His parents kicked him out," said Bokuto, "because they're homophobic _assholes_."

"They're the ones who hit him?" Anger was such a rare look on his dad's face.

Bokuto nodded.

"He can stay as long as he needs, Kou," said his mom.

"How could they do that?" he asked. "It's so cold out, and they just–they just kicked him out! What if he didn't make it here? What if he got lost? He could have _froze_! Someone could have hurt him!"

His mom hugged him and rubbed his back. "Sweetheart… Kou, he's okay. He's here where it's warm, with people who love him."

"Should we call the police?" asked Bokuto into his mom's chest.

"You let your father and I worry about that, all right? Your _only_ job is to take care of Akaashi-kun. You can do that, right?"

Bokuto nodded. 

"That's my boy."

Bokuto returned to Akaashi's side. He heard his parent's low murmurs in the kitchen, discussing what to do about the situation and logistics and whether the police needed to be involved and what was best for Akaashi–

But Bokuto decided to listen to his mother and let them worry about that. 

He sat by Akaashi and brushed a curl of hair from his forehead. Swirling on top of everything were Akaashi's last words. He hated himself for getting hung up on it when there were so many other things to worry about, but… 

Had he meant it? In the way that Bokuto had meant it?

That morning, Bokuto hadn't even considered Akaashi returning his feelings a _possibility_ , and now… The possibility was there, real and tantalizing.

But even if Akaashi didn't mean it like that…

He was Bokuto's best friend. And he'd be damned before anyone made Akaashi feel like he wasn't loved. Like he wasn't worth loving. Like he wasn't Bokuto's most favorite person. 


	2. In Your Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo hummed. “So they just took the whole thing out, huh?”  
> “Yeah, and they couldn’t do it laprocoptic either–”  
> “Laparoscopic.”  
> “Because when an appendix explodes–”  
> “They don’t explode–”
> 
> Bokuto is in the hospital. Akaashi hasn't visited.

Kuroo crept into the room, a grin on his face. “There he is,” he said, looking Bokuto up and down. “How you feeling, Bo?”

Bokuto leaned forward. He was sat up in his hospital bed, his legs tucked under the covers, with bright eyes and color in his cheeks. He looked good. “Kuroo! Hey, hey, hey! I’m feeling great!”

“No pain?”

“None at all! I feel like a superhero! Watch this!” He pinched himself in the arm. “See? Can’t feel a thing.” He went to do it again–

Kuroo caught his wrist. “Just cause you can’t feel it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Bokuto seemed unbothered. “Check this out!” He lifted up his hospital gown, unashamed, revealing the white bandage on his lower right side.

Kuroo hummed. “So they just took the whole thing out, huh?”

“Yeah, and they couldn’t do it laprocoptic either–”

“Laparoscopic.”

“Because when an appendix explodes–”

“They don’t _explode_ –”

“They have to cut you open so they can clean you out, otherwise you’ll get an infection and die.”

Kuroo frowned. “You’re all cleaned out, then?”

Bokuto nodded, grin wide, as he gave a thumbs up. “All good!”

Kuroo deposited himself in a chair next to Bokuto’s bed. “That’s great to hear. You getting out of here any time soon?”

“Yeah! I should be able to come back to camp tomorrow–”

“ _Ha?_ ”

“Not to train, just to watch, you know?” he said, noticing Kuroo’s disapproval. “I’m Captain, I can’t leave my team hanging!”

“I’m sure Akaashi can handle them,” said Kuroo, but that had been the wrong thing to say, because Bokuto’s face fell.

“Yeah,” said Bokuto, and he sounded a little lost, “Akaashi can handle anything. Has he… Do you know if he…” He swallowed and gripped at his blankets. He plastered on a smile. “Konoha and Komi visited me yesterday!”

Kuroo blinked at the change of subject. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was great.” It didn’t sound like it. “And Washio stopped by this morning with Sarukui and Onaga.”

Ah. So that’s what it was. “Akaashi hasn’t stopped by at all?”

Bokuto looked away. “Nah, but he’s probably busy taking over Captain responsibilities while I’m gone, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t… have time.”

Kuroo sighed because he knew Bokuto was blind, but this was taking it to another level. “What do you remember?” asked Kuroo. “From when your appendix burst. Do you remember what happened?”

Bokuto screwed up his face in concentration. “Hmmm, not really. I mean, I wasn’t feeling well, but I didn’t wanna sit on the bench so I didn’t say anything. Guess that was pretty stupid, huh? I hit an awesome spike, and… it hurt a lot. I think I threw up? Lots of yelling… That’s all I really…” Bokuto picked at the covers. “ _Ne,_ Kuroo, do you think… Do you think Akaashi…”

“What?”

Bokuto let out a long sigh. “Never mind.”

Kuroo fingered at the phone in his pocket. Should he show him? He could already feel the preemptive guilt. It felt like a betrayal to Akaashi, but Bokuto would see it eventually anyway, it was all over the internet…

“Hey, Bo,” said Kuroo, pulling out his phone when Bokuto’s mood showed no sign of improving, his posture slumped in a deep sulk. “Someone in the stands took a video. It’s not pretty, but if you wanna see what happened…”

Bokuto’s eyes lit up with curiosity and Kuroo hated himself a little bit. _Sorry Akaashi…_

Kuroo pulled up the video on his phone and leaned over the bed so Bokuto could watch.

Whoever had manned the camera had a serious crush on Shinzen’s Captain, and it was obvious for two reasons: they risked being thrown out of the gym by videoing their training, which was against the rules, the other reason being that the camera didn’t leave Broccoli-Head the entire time–

Until a terrified “ _Bokuto-san!_ ” rang over the courts. The video swerved, focusing instead on the team across the net where Bokuto was _down_ , on one knee, his face screwed up in pain.

Akaashi had been subbed out with Anahori, Fukurodani’s backup setter, to give the first-year some game experience, but Akaashi stood from the bench and gave no mind to the boundary lines of the court. He was kneeling at Bokuto’s side in an instant, a comforting hand on his back. He was murmuring something, but the video didn’t pick it up, when Bokuto vomited onto the court.

The gathering teammates all leapt back, but Akaashi leaned in, got his arm under Bokuto’s and helped support him, keeping him from falling into the pile of sick. Bokuto vomited again, but there were streaks of _red_ this time–

“Call an ambulance!” cried Akaashi, his voice tight and panicked in a way it _never_ was. Calm, composed Akaashi. Quiet, reserved Akaashi.

The person taking the video made their way out of the stands and closer to the scene, the camera shaking with their movement.

“Bokuto-san. _Bokuto-san_.” Akaashi ran his hand over Bokuto’s forehead, at a loss. The Fukurodani Coach knelt by Akaashi as the Faculty Advisor called an ambulance.

By then, Kuroo had run over from the other side of the gym where he’d been in a match against Karasuno.

“Stay back,” the Coach called, keeping a steady perimeter. Kuroo froze, white as a sheet.

Bokuto was curling up, clutching at his abdomen, and Akaashi struggled to keep them upright–

Bokuto vomited blood all down Akaashi’s front.

Coach tried to help, to take Bokuto from Akaashi, but the setter wouldn’t let go, only clutching him tighter.

“Ambulance is on its way.”

Bokuto was gasping and shaking. He looked miserable. He looked out of it, unaware of anything except the pain.

“You’re okay,” said Akaashi, a tremble in his voice. “You’re okay, Bokuto-san.”

Konoha brought over a small trashcan from one of the bathrooms. Bokuto clutched it to his chest like a lifeline.

Bokuto didn’t gain any semblance of composure, and when the EMTs arrived to take Bokuto away, that was the tipping point for Akaashi.

“You have to let go,” one of them said.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“If you want us to help your friend, you need to let go.”

Akaashi let go and followed them to the doors of the gym, but he was stopped there with a firm hand on his shoulder. “We’ll take care of him. You have to stay here.”

“No,” said Akaashi, his voice shaking, “no, I need to come with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I need to come with you. _I need to come with you–_ ” But they were leaving, and Coach was holding Akaashi back.

“No. I need to go with them! Coach, _please–_ I need to go with them!”

The siren blared as the ambulance drove away.

“Bokuto- _san_!”

Konoha approached Akaashi like he was a frightened animal. “Akaashi…”

“I– I–” Akaashi gasped for breath, chest heaving.

“Akaashi–”

Akaashi pulled himself from his coach’s grip and backed away, unsteady on his feet. He looked down at himself, covered in sick mixed with blood. “Bokuto-san, he… I need...” Tears started running silently down his cheeks. “I can’t–”

“Breathe, Akaashi,” said Konoha, grabbing Akaashi’s shoulders, ignoring the sick that had soaked into Akaashi’s uniform.

“ _Hey!”_ someone shouted. There was a jolt from the person holding the camera. “Put that away!”

And the video cut out.

Bokuto, the real Bokuto, the one alive and well beside him, stared at Kuroo’s phone, wide-eyed.

“Gnarly stuff, right?” said Kuroo, like his heart wasn’t pounding with the memory, like it didn’t make him sick to watch it again. “He had a panic attack after that,” he said, his voice low. “A pretty big one. Took a while to get him to calm down. Your team had to force him into the shower to get the, ah, blood off him. So if you’re… _upset_ that he hasn’t come to visit, don’t… don’t be too hard on him? He was pretty shaken up.”

Bokuto’s eyes watered. “Why didn’t anybody tell me? He looked so scared! Is he okay now? He’s okay, right?”

“He’s…” Kuroo didn’t usually have a problem with lying. “He’ll be fine.”

“Kuroo!”

“He’ll be better once he sees that you’re okay. Don’t look at me like that, you know he doesn’t listen to me. We’ve all tried to tell him you’re fine, but I don’t think that’s the problem–”

There was a knock and a quiet “Bokuto-san.”

Both of their heads snapped towards the doorway and Bokuto let out a small whine. Kuroo sympathized, because damn if Akaashi didn’t look _awful_. He was pale, the dark circles under his eyes extra prominent. He looked like he hadn’t slept since–

Well, since it happened.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto lamented, as if the sight of his friend physically hurt him.

“Ah,” said Akaashi in light surprise as his eyes flickered with something like annoyance, “Kuroo-san is here.”

“The one and only,” said Kuroo.

Akaashi ignored him. “You look better, Bokuto-san.”

“And you look terrible,” cried Bokuto. “Akaashi! Are you sleeping?”

“Not at the moment.”

“ _Akaashi!_ ”

“I’m just a little tired from practice.”

Kuroo snorted. Ah, the good old distract-Bokuto-with-volleyball technique. Akaashi underestimated Bokuto’s attachment to him.

“You should have visited me sooner,” said Bokuto, not derailed in the slightest.

Akaashi wilted slightly. “I know. I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

“Akaashi! You could never disappoint me! I mean, I did miss you, and I wondered why you didn’t come to visit, but you’re here now, so it’s okay!”

Akaashi winced.

“Besides, I think I understand. Kuroo showed me the video, and it was really scary!”

Kuroo had to sit through a solid three seconds of terror before Akaashi turned to face him with an icy glare. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Kuroo held up a placating hand. “Don’t be like that, Akaashi. He didn’t really remember what happened, so–”

“So instead of explaining it to him like an adult, you showed him the video that someone took and posted without our permission that I have been trying to get taken down for days. That video?”

Kuroo really didn’t have much of a valid excuse for what he’d done–he’d known that before he’d done it–only that Akaashi had been devastated and messed up by what happened, and to let Bokuto think even for a moment that Akaashi wasn’t visiting because he didn’t care was unacceptable. So he nodded.

“You had _no right_ to show that to him.”

Bokuto frowned. “Akaashi, are you angry I saw the video?”

Akaashi sighed. “Not at you, Bokuto-san.”

“But you wish I hadn’t seen it?”

Akaashi looked at Bokuto, and he seemed strangely vulnerable to Kuroo. He’d heard what others said about him. _Cold Akaashi. Heartless Akaashi._ But here was the evidence against it in front of him. Hell, the evidence had been in that damn video.

“I just wish… you hadn’t seen me in such a regrettable state.”

Kuroo jolted.

Bokuto’s brow furrowed. “Upset?”

“That was more than upset, Bokuto-san, that was–” Akaashi took a breath. “I lost control.”

“You were scared,” said Bokuto.

“Regardless. It was inappropriate of me to behave in such a way.”

“Inappropriate?” barked Kuroo. He looked to Bokuto, aghast, but Bokuto just looked sad. There was something there that he was missing.

“Did your parents see the video?” Bokuto asked, soft.

And Kuroo didn’t know what the hell Akaashi’s parents had to do with anything, but Akaashi stiffened.

“They… The way I reacted was… embarrassing, so–”

“Akaashi,” said Bokuto, distraught, “it was a natural reaction to a scary situation. Please don’t feel bad about that.”

“I thought,” said Akaashi, and his voice _wobbled_. “I thought you were dying.”

“I’m okay,” said Bokuto, and he reached out, and that was all Akaashi needed because he was moving forward. He was careful in the way that he hugged Bokuto, approaching from the left side to avoid any accidents.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” said Bokuto.

Akaashi shook his head.

Bokuto carefully shimmied himself to the side, freeing up half of the bed, but Akaashi glanced at Kuroo. “Hey,” said Bokuto softly, calling Akaashi’s attention back to him. “Please?”

Akaashi carefully climbed into bed next to Bokuto and curled up beside him. It didn’t take long for him to drift off, his breaths coming out in soft puffs against Bokuto’s arm. He really was exhausted.

“What you said about his parents,” said Kuroo quietly.

“They’re super strict,” said Bokuto, downcast. “Obsessed with their reputation and stuff. The pressure gets to him, I think.”

Kuroo could unpack a lot from that sentence.

“The video,” said Bokuto, looking to Kuroo.

“Kenma’s working on it,” he said.

Bokuto nodded.

Just then, Konoha burst into the room, short of breath. He saw Akaashi and nearly went limp with relief. “Oh, thank Christ.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s at the hospital,” he said. Then he snorted. “I know. Shoulda locked him in here days ago.” He said goodbye and hung up before approaching with a knowing smirk. “The team’s been trying to get him to sleep for days, you know. You’re making us look bad.”

Bokuto tightened his hold around Akaashi. “Nightmares?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said, plopping down in a chair next to Kuroo. “He gave up trying after the first night. Coach pulled him from the matches, too, kept Anahori in as setter, but I think that just made it worse, left on the bench with nothing to do but think.” He let out a sigh. “Man. What a shitty couple of days.”

“Have Akaashi’s parents–”

Konoha’s face darkened. “They won’t stop calling. Sometimes I just wanna take Akaashi’s phone and snap it in half, you know? At least give him the rest of camp to be free of them.” His own phone vibrated. He checked the screen. “That’s Komi,” he said and stood. “I’ve gotta head back. You’ll look after him, won’t you?”

“You can count on me!”

Konoha smiled. “I know I can. Try not to wake him if you can help it. And have him text me when he wakes up. Oh, and see if you can get him to drink some water.” He left with a wave and a grin.

Kuroo snorted. “He sounds like a mom.”

“Well, it’s Akaashi,” said Bokuto, like that explained everything. “He’s the only second-year on the team, you know.”

“And yet, he’s more mature than all of you.” Bokuto just grinned, not bothering to deny it, and Kuroo felt a sudden wave of affection. “I’m glad you’re okay, Bo,” he said, standing. “But I don’t think anyone is more glad than Akaashi.”

Bokuto flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kuroo.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door. “He’s literally curled up in your lap.”

“He’s– He’s not–” Bokuto sputtered. “He’s _not_ in my lap.”

“Weak defense.”

“He’s not in my lap! He’s next to it! Look!”

“I’m telling you, the quicker you two get over whatever’s holding you back, the happier you’ll be.”

Bokuto muttered something like _I’m already happy_ , and Kuroo paused at the door. He looked back with a sneer. “You’re disgusting. Would you just kiss him already?”

Bokuto threw a pillow at him.


	3. Truth in Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Konoha!” he cried, “Where’s Akaashi?”  
> Konoha looked stricken. “You… Nobody called you, Bokuto?”  
> “Hm? Called me about what?” Something uncomfortable stirred in his gut as he saw mirrored expressions of dread on the rest of his team members’ faces. “Oi,” he said, his voice dropping in seriousness, “what’s going on?”
> 
> Akaashi temporarily loses his memories.

Bokuto burst into the gym with a megawatt grin on his face and fire in his veins. “Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi, toss to me!” It was reflex, more than anything. Akaashi always arrived at morning practice before him, and Bokuto was usually rewarded with a dry ‘not until you’ve stretched, Bokuto-san,’ so when his ears were met with silence and there was no sight of Akaashi in the gym, he frowned. “Konoha!” he cried, “Where’s Akaashi?”

Konoha looked pale. “Nobody called you?”

“Called me about what?” Something uncomfortable stirred in his gut as he saw mirrored expressions of dread on the rest of his team members’ faces. “ _Oi_ ,” he said, his voice dropping in seriousness, “what’s going on?”

“Akaashi’s in the hospital.”

Everything faded to white, the words echoing around his head like it was an empty gymnasium. Hands on his shoulders, reassuring words– It was all just background noise. _Akaashi’s in the hospital._ Was he hurt? Was he sick? Was he dying? Had he already died in the time it took for Bokuto to even be informed? Was Akaashi _dead–?_

Ice cold water was splashed into his face, and his surroundings slammed back into him. The gym, his teammates, his coach, Komi, with his open water bottle still upturned in his outstretched hand. “You back with us, Captain?”

“I have to go!” said Bokuto.

“They don’t know anything yet,” said Konoha.

“I don’t care!”

“Take a minute,” said Konoha, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know where you’re going and you shouldn’t go by yourself.”

“So come with me!”

Konoha looked pained. “It’s not– Bokuto, it’s not our place. His parents–”

“They don’t give a shit about him,” snarled Bokuto. “What hospital?”

“Bokuto–”

“ _What hospital?_ ”

“Nerima General.”

Bokuto marched his way to the club room and grabbed his things, not bothering to waste the time it would take to change out of his practice tee and shorts. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

“Can’t talk, Bo,” answered Kuroo, “we’re about to start practice. As much as I love the sound of your voice–”

“Akaashi’s in the hospital.”

“ _What_?” said Kuroo. “Shit. I’ll meet your there.”

Bokuto gave him the name of the hospital and hung up. He would have to get a cab, but he might have trouble flagging one down seeing how drivers avoided the Fukurodani area while school was in session, as it became a bit of a dead spot.

The door to the club room opened, and there, with an annoyed frown and crossed arms, was Konoha. “I’ll drive you,” he said, his voice steel. “But if Akaashi’s parents ask us to leave, we’re leaving.”

Bokuto jumped on him in an enthusiastic hug. Konoha shoved him off. “Okay!” said Bokuto. “You can leave, but I’ll stay.”

“What did I just say?”

“I won’t leave until security drags me out.”

Konoha looked the exasperated side of frustrated. “You can’t do that. Akaashi is their son, we have to respect their wishes–”

“They’re bad parents.”

Konoha grit his teeth. “They’re still his parents.” Bokuto huffed, and Konoha sighed. “Fine. Get arrested. See what I care. Now come on.”

Bokuto threw his stuff in the backseat of Konoha’s car and settled in the passenger’s seat, tapping his fingers against the arm rest and bouncing his leg as they drove. “Do you know what happened?” asked Bokuto.

Konoha let out a long sigh. “I knew you weren’t listening.”

“I blanked out.”

“He was clipped by a biker on his way home yesterday. Hit his head on the way down.”

“ _Yesterday?!_ Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“I don’t know– Ah. Actually, Coach used the phone tree to notify us. Akaashi’s name is before yours on the list, isn’t it? So… I guess whoever had Akaashi’s name didn’t think to look at who Akaashi was supposed to call.”

“He hit his head?” said Bokuto. “He’s okay now though, right?”

“We don’t know,” said Konoha. “His parents haven’t given us an update.”

“Tch.”

“I know you don’t like them, but try to be civil?”

“We’ll see.”

“Bokuto.”

“I said we’ll see!”

Nekoma was closer to Nerima General than Fukurodani, and Kuroo was already in the hospital waiting room when Bokuto rushed in, dragging Konoha by the sleeve. Kuroo stood. “Kenma wanted to come, but… you know how he is about hospitals.”

“Any word?” asked Bokuto.

Kuroo frowned. “Yeah, actually. I ran into Akaashi’s mom. Akaashi’s okay, but…”

Bokuto’s throat went dry, along with the entirety of his insides. He could practically feel his stomach and intestines shriveling up and dying. “But what?”

“Well, he’s having a little trouble remembering things,” said Kuroo. “The doctor says it’s probably not permanent, and it’s pretty common in cases like his. It should wear off in a few days–”

“Akaashi’s lost his memories?” said Konoha, sounding just as lost as Bokuto felt.

“Not… exactly,” said Kuroo. “He remembers things. Could probably take a test in any subject he’s learning at school and ace it, honestly. It’s people.”

“He’s forgotten who we are?” asked Bokuto, hating how his eyes instantly welled up.

“Sort of,” said Kuroo. “More like… there’s an empty space where the memories should be, but the feelings attached are still there? Like, he didn’t know who his parents were, but he still felt like he knew them. At least, that’s how his mom described it.”

“It’s not permanent?” asked Bokuto, needing to hear it again as reassurance.

“Shouldn’t be.”

Bokuto let out a breath of relief. Akaashi was okay. He was alive, awake, and on his way to recovery. A strange case of amnesia where Akaashi didn’t know who Bokuto was for a few days was a small price to pay to have an _alive_ Akaashi. “Can we see him?”

Kuroo winced. “Yeah, about that…”

“Bokuto-kun,” said a crisp, cold voice that Bokuto recognized. He stiffened. “Why aren’t you at school?”

Bokuto turned around to see Akaashi’s mother who looked like she was dressed to go to a fancy restaurant. Her dark, curly hair that was so like her son’s was tied in an elegant bun on the top of her head. There wasn’t a hair out of place or a smudge of lipstick. She looked far too put together for a mother whose son had been held in the hospital overnight. Bokuto wondered if she’d stayed at his bedside, waiting for him to wake up. He wondered if she’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He wondered if she’d been worried at all.

“Akaashi-sama,” said Bokuto, bowing low, because, yes, if she asked him to leave he would refuse, but it would cause trouble for everyone and he probably wouldn’t get to see Akaashi at all if security had to escort him out. So Bokuto would try to be civil, as Konoha had put it. “How’s Akaashi?”

She sighed, sounding frustrated. “Uncooperative. He refuses to listen to reason.”

Bokuto clenched his hands into fists at his sides and Konoha placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Konoha.

She pursed her lips, obviously loath to admit needing their help, but something about how she held herself screamed _flustered_ to Bokuto. Something about this memory-less Akaashi had her reeling. “If you would… _convince him_ that it is within his best interests to return home… He doesn’t seem to want to leave the hospital.”

Bokuto opened his mouth to shoot back how _of course_ Akaashi didn’t want to go home, he hated it there, but Konoha stepped on his foot.

“Of course, Akaashi- _sama_ ,” said Konoha.

She gave them the room number before leaving to get a quick meal in the hospital cafeteria.

Kuroo let out a low whistle. “She is ice cold.”

An older doctor stopped them outside of Akaashi’s room while she was on her way out. “You three are friends of Akaashi-kun?” she asked, her frizzy, graying hair tied up messily.

“His mom said we could visit,” Bokuto said in a panic, because barring Akaashi from visitors was something she would do, and maybe she’d forgotten to let the front desk know that she’d changed her mind–

“Relax, you’re not in any trouble,” she said. She had a kind face. “Akaashi- _kun_ has seemed a little down since his mother arrived. Try to cheer him up?” Bokuto nodded a little too enthusiastically and she laughed.

Akaashi looked… normal. There was a small line of stitches on his forehead near his hairline, further held together by two butterfly bandages, but other than that, he seemed fine.

Akaashi saw Konoha and lit up. He looked happy, happier than he usually allowed himself to look. Bokuto had gotten good at reading the small, secret smiles that he would hide behind a hand or turn away to mask, and to see him smile without reservation was… more than rare, he’d never seen him do it so freely, not once.

“You look good, Akaashi,” said Kuroo with a smirk, and Akaashi’s expression melted into familiar annoyance.

“Akaashi! Do you remember us?!” asked Bokuto, rushing to Akaashi’s bedside.

Akaashi looked at him with wide eyes and his face went pink.

“Aah! Akaashi!! What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Bokuto pressed a hand to Akaashi’s forehead.

“No, I’m fine,” said Akaashi, turning away, and Bokuto let his hand fall. “Are you… Are we… together?”

“ _Hah_?”

“We’re not. _Oh, God._ ” Akaashi’s face went from pink to red and he dropped it into his hands.

Bokuto felt his own face warm as Kuroo cackled.

“You don’t remember us, Akaashi?” Konoha asked, his voice gentle.

Akaashi looked up, avoiding looking at Bokuto. “I don’t… know who you are, but… I know we’re friends.” Akaashi’s eyes flicked to Bokuto and away again, the pink tinge in his face staying strong.

“Even me?” asked Kuroo.

Akaashi sighed. “Even you.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” said Kuroo, satisfied. “I grow on people. Like beautiful, luxurious hair.”

“Or a parasite,” said Akaashi.

Bokuto snorted. Akaashi grinned, and again, he made no effort to conceal it. Bokuto stared shamelessly.

“I feel like I know you,” said Akaashi, “but… it would be nice to have names?”

“Konoha,” said Konoha, pointing a thumb at himself. “That’s Kuroo. And that’s Bokuto.”

“Konoha,” said Akaashi, committing it to memory. “Kuroo.” He looked to Bokuto. “Bokuto.”

Bokuto could feel the smile stretching across his own face as elation danced in his stomach. “Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi! You called me Bokuto!!”

Akaashi blinked. “Did I say it wrong?”

“Well, you usually call me Bokuto-san _–_ ”

“Ah, my apologies, Bokuto-san _–_ ”

“NO!”

Akaashi jumped.

Bokuto rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Ah, I mean… Bokuto is fine. Bokuto is great! Akaashi, you could– Could you maybe… call me Koutarou?”

Kuroo cackled. Konoha slapped him upside the back of his head.

“If you wish, Koutarou.”

Something short-circuited in Bokuto, the room suddenly feeling a thousand degrees too hot.

“Maybe that’s not a good idea,” snickered Kuroo. “Save that for later when you two are alone.”

“So we are together?” said Akaashi. “It felt like we might be.”

Kuroo couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard.

Akaashi looked an interesting mix of embarrassed and annoyed. “You’re not growing on me at all, Kuroo.”

“You’re… _not_ together,” admitted Konoha.

Akaashi deflated slightly. “Oh.”

“Akaashi,” said Bokuto. “Why’d you think we’re… you know… _together_?”

Akaashi looked down and fiddled with his fingers, a habit that seemed to transcend even amnesia. “I feel… very fond of you, Bokuto. If you didn’t know this, I imagine I didn’t tell you for a reason, so I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable–”

“Not uncomfortable!” Bokuto blurted. “Not at all! I’ve liked you forever, Akaashi!”

Akaashi looked up, curious. “Have we known each other that long?”

“Less than two years,” said Konoha.

Akaashi laughed. It was such a rare sound, no matter how hilarious Bokuto was trying to be on any given day, that the lengths Bokuto would go to hear it had grown so elaborate and convoluted that his team teased him for it endlessly when Akaashi wasn’t around. “That’s not quite forever, then, Bokuto.”

“Call me Koutarou again!”

“Stop taking advantage of Akaashi,” said Konoha.

Akaashi smiled and laughed, and it was too much. Bokuto fell in love all over again, and he knew he had a stupid lovesick look on his face, but it _really_ couldn’t be helped.

“Why’re you so giddy?” asked Kuroo, eyeing Akaashi, amused. “You do know you’re in the hospital, right?”

“Don’t be a buzzkill, Kuroo,” said Bokuto.

“I don’t know,” said Akaashi, still smiling. “Being with you three… It just makes me happy.”

Akaashi was… still Akaashi, but he was so, _so_ different. He was happier. Quicker to laugh, quicker to smile. Less reserved, less composed. Without his memories, he seemed… so much lighter. Bokuto didn’t understand the change, until Akaashi’s mom returned.

Akaashi seemed to shut down.

“Keiji,” she said, approaching the bed. “I trust you’ve come to your senses by now? Are you ready to come home?”

Ah. They’d forgotten to mention that.

Akaashi clenched his fists into the blankets. “I don’t…”

She tutted. “Really, Keiji. The doctors said you should. A familiar environment will help with the amnesia.”

“I don’t want–”

“Do you know how much a night’s stay in a hospital costs?”

Akaashi’s mouth clicked shut. His hands trembled.

“I understand that this must be difficult for you, but you’re only making this harder on your father and I.”

“I–”

“I’ll be signing you out. So get ready. Say goodbye to your friends.” She stalked out, her heels clicking on the linoleum.

Akaashi let out a shaking breath. “That woman… She’s really my mom?”

“Unfortunately,” grumbled Bokuto. “Why? What do you feel when you look at her?” he asked, afraid that he already knew the answer.

“Disquiet,” said Akaashi.

Bokuto frowned.

Akaashi’s mom came back and they bid their goodbyes, leaving Bokuto feeling uneasy. “I didn’t think his mom was all that loud,” he said, “but Akaashi’s pretty quiet, I guess.”

Konoha sighed. “Disquiet, Bokuto. It doesn’t mean loud.”

“ _Eh_?” said Bokuto. “What does it mean?”

“It means anxious.”

Bokuto didn’t sleep well that night, and as he laid in bed staring at the ceiling, things started to fall into place. The amnesia version of Akaashi was an Akaashi without his parents’ influence. Without their crippling expectations, without their unrelenting judgement. He smiled and laughed. He called Bokuto ‘Koutarou’ and he confessed that he was _fond of him_ and Bokuto thought–

He thought–

Akaashi might be better off if he never regained his memories.

Akaashi was at school the next day. His doctors had prescribed strict adherence to his usual routine, to see if it might jog something in his memory. Akaashi laughed and joked with the team at morning practice, and he celebrated good plays, and he beamed at a compliment from coach, and he held Bokuto’s hand–

It was freeing, to see him with his walls down. Bokuto just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. This was what Akaashi could have been. This was what his parents had taken from him.

It was late that night that there was a pounding on the Bokuto front door. Bokuto opened it to see Akaashi, eyes wide with a panic. “I met my father.”

Bokuto let him in.

“Koutarou…” said Akaashi, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees at his chest. “Did I ever say anything about… Have you ever noticed…”

“What happened, Akaashi?” asked Bokuto, sitting down next to him on the floor next to his futon.

“Nothing happened,” said Akaashi. “He just… He came home and I looked at him and… and I felt… Did you ever suspect that he might be a bad person?”

“Well,” said Bokuto slowly, careful, “to tell you the truth, I’ve never liked your parents. I think they’re too hard on you.”

“I look at them, and I just feel… _pressure_. It– It’s crushing me. It’s terrifying. _He’s_ terrifying.”

“Akaashi, do you feel safe there?”

Akaashi hugged himself tighter. “ _I don’t know_.”

The next week, Akaashi was back to normal. His memories had all been there, in his head, upon waking. Everything went back to normal.

It was better. And it wasn’t.

It was better because Akaashi knew him. He was the Akaashi Bokuto had fallen in love with, the Akaashi with secret smiles who never lost his composure and who called him ‘Bokuto- _san_.’

And it was so much worse, because now Bokuto had met the person behind Akaashi’s walls. And now he knew, and he would never forget.

_Do you feel safe there?_

_I don’t know._

“ _Ne_ , Akaashi,” said Bokuto that evening as he walked Akaashi home from school, a habit he’d taken up since the accident.

Akaashi stopped walking and bowed to him. “You have my deepest apologies, Bokuto-san.”

“ _Hah?”_

“For everything I said this week. Everything you witnessed. I would appreciate if you would forget it and we can continue where we left off.”

Forget it.

Akaashi wanted him to forget it.

_I feel… very fond of you, Bokuto._

_Being with you three… It just makes me happy._

_That woman… She’s really my mom?_

_Disquiet._

_It’s crushing me. It’s terrifying._

_Do you feel safe there?_

_I don’t know._

“No,” said Bokuto.

Akaashi stood straight, the shock clear on his face. “What?”

“I refuse.”

“Bokuto-san _–_ ”

“You’re in love with me.”

Akaashi’s face went red.

“I never want to forget that,” said Bokuto softly.

“You…” Akaashi licked his lips. “You said… before, that…”

“I’ve liked you forever.”

Akaashi nodded.

“I have,” said Bokuto.

Akaashi sighed. “You… You _can’t_ have. I’m not good for you, Bokuto, I’m… If there’s anything I’ve learned since getting my memories back, it’s that I’m no good.”

Bokuto grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. “I missed you, Akaashi.” He pulled away, and Akaashi’s eyes were shining. “I’m gonna ask you something again, now that you have your memories back,” he said.

“Please don’t–”

“Do you feel safe there?”

A tear trailed down Akaashi’s cheek. “I…”

“Akaashi…”

Akaashi wiped away the tear and resumed walking home. “I feel perfectly safe, Bokuto-san.”

And Bokuto felt something like heartbreak, because he didn’t believe him.


	4. You Talk of Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You talk about pride. What about selfishness? Fukurodani takes the prefecture victory every year. How about sharing the limelight?”  
> “Bokuto-san is one of the top five aces in the country,” Akaashi said, stating the facts in a cool, even tone. “He deserves the limelight.”
> 
> Bokuto and Akaashi are attacked.

“Did you see that last spike, Akaashi!?”

“I was the one who tossed it to you, Bokuto-san.”

They were walking home from practice, the sky a deep blue, the empty sidewalk illuminated by street lights. Akaashi wore his team pants and jacket, but Bokuto, who tended to run hot, was still in his practice Tee and shorts.

“Yeah, but did you see it SLAM on the other side of the court? Did you see Konoha and Washio try to get it? It was too good, though! I’m the best! Say I’m the best, Akaashi!”

“I don’t make a habit of lying, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto wilted. “Akaashi!”

“The spike was impressive.”

Bokuto beamed.

“But don’t think I forgot about your seventeen service misses.”

“I was trying out something new!”

“It didn’t work. I would appreciate it if you would return to your usual, reliable way of serving for our next match.”

“But this new method is going to make my serves even stronger, I can feel it!”

Akaashi was pretty sure Bokuto’s new serve had everything to do with Nationals approaching. They’d lost last year in the finals against Itachiyama, and from what Akaashi could tell from how Bokuto was serving, he was experimenting with wrist rotation to put a bigger spin on the ball, a method employed by Sakusa and his freakishly flexible wrists.

It wasn’t… a bad thing, for Bokuto to be trying something new, but Akaashi wondered about him doing so this late into the season. If he didn’t make any headway on improving it could trigger a slump, which could affect them in their final qualifying match for Nationals–not that he was too worried about that. Even without Bokuto, Fukurodani never had trouble qualifying for Nationals before. They were a top tier school that only accepted the best. Their first years were _exceptional_ , and only one of them was a regular. The team was full of star players– _though none that shined more than Bokuto_. The team had long ago learned how to bring Bokuto out of his slumps–well, _Akaashi_ had learned, and the team listened to him for all matters regarding their ace and Captain–and they made use of that knowledge effectively.

Akaashi felt his face flush at the memory of their last game. They’d been one set in, and Bokuto had seemed a little tired, having been too excited for the match to sleep well the previous night, and Akaashi had instructed the third years to employ the usual method to get Bokuto fired up–to tell Bokuto they’d overheard a cute girl in the stands say he was really cool. It was a method they’d used countless times, and perhaps, one day, if it ever stopped working, they’d have to think of a new one, but there had been no evidence that would happen any time soon.

Quite the opposite. Akaashi watched from afar as the third years gossiped in his ear, and Bokuto looked the most excited Akaashi had seen in weeks. “Really?! That really happened!?” It amazed him that the same old line continued to have this much affect.

Except something was different. Bokuto didn’t just play _well_ , he _excelled._ His spikes slammed onto the other side of the court, he didn’t get discouraged even once, and his enthusiasm rubbed off on the rest of the team. They were so in sync, they _annihilated_ Nohebi.

“What on Earth did you tell him?” Akaashi asked after the game as Bokuto bounced around with energy that had yet to wane.

“Just that ‘Akaashi said you’re playing really well today,’” said Konoha. Akaashi went red, and Konoha slapped him on the back with a smug grin. “Don’t mind, don’t mind.”

Akaashi was usually the go-to player on how to handle Bokuto, but his team had surpassed him this time– _although, Akaashi could argue that their method had been_ too _effective, having resulted in Bokuto being extra loud and keeping everyone awake on the bus ride home._

“Do you want me to stop with the new serve?” Bokuto asked, bringing Akaashi back to the dark street, and the weight of his bag over his shoulder.

He allowed himself a small smile. “That won’t be necessary, Bokuto-san. If you believe it will make your serve stronger, you have my full support.”

Bokuto stared, open-mouthed­.

Sometimes, during quiet moments like this, Akaashi could almost believe that Bokuto felt something other than friendship for him.

Wouldn’t that be convenient?

A figure stepped in front of them from around the corner, and three others approached from the sides. Akaashi grabbed at Bokuto’s shirt, jolting them to a stop.

The four of them wore dark clothing, blending slightly into their surroundings, but the lamplight was enough to illuminate their faces. All men, they looked to be quite a few years older than him and Bokuto, but Akaashi didn’t recognize any of them.

“Excuse us,” said Akaashi.

One of the men sneered. “Fukurodani, right?”

Considering their school name was literally printed on their practice clothes– “Congratulations, you can read.” _Now’s not the time, Keiji–_

The man glared, and Bokuto stepped slightly in front of Akaashi. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said.

“I definitely recognize you,” said the man. “You’re him. That’s him, right?”

“That’s him,” said one of the men on their right.

“You’re the ace, of the Fukurodani Gakuen Volleyball team. And you, you’re the setter.”

Akaashi could feel Bokuto stiffen in front of him. “You fans of volleyball?” Bokuto’s voice was friendly, but his stance was tense.

“We are. Big fans.”

Akaashi tightened his grip in Bokuto’s shirt. He was sure Bokuto could feel him shaking. He thought Bokuto might have leaned back slightly into him, as reassurance.

“You ever heard of Hagetakano Shiritsu?” asked the man.

They had. By the luck of the draw, they’d had to face Hagetakano in the past four qualifying tournaments for nationals. Fukurodani won every time.

“Let’s just say I have an… _investment_ in the team’s future. They want to go to Nationals this year. You’re set to play them on Friday, and I noticed their track record against you isn’t stellar. If I asked you to lose… would you throw the game?”

“No way,” said Bokuto, his voice dark. “That’s an insult to the game and all the players who have worked so hard to get where they are. You think Hagetakano would be proud of a win they didn’t earn?

The man glared. “You talk about pride. What about selfishness? Fukurodani takes the prefecture victory every year. How about sharing the limelight?”

“Bokuto-san is one of the top five aces in the country,” said Akaashi, stating the facts in a cool, even tone. “He deserves the limelight.” The thought of throwing the match, of ruining Bokuto and the other third years’ last chance to go and win at Nationals, had him rife with distaste so potent it prickled underneath his skin. Bokuto deserved to win, to stand on that podium, and Akaashi had promised himself he’d use everything he had at his disposal to get him there.

The man frowned. “There’s nothing that’ll change your mind? Money?”

“I’m sorry,” said Bokuto. “I know how frustrating it can be to lose, but we won’t compromise everything our team has worked for.”

The man sighed. “Fine. I guess it can’t be helped.”

Before Akaashi was aware of what was happening, his bag was tossed aside as two of the men grabbed him from either side, his arms caught in painful grips.

“Akaashi–!” Three men were on Bokuto, one of them coming from behind where Akaashi hadn’t seen him. This had been premeditated and coordinated. They’d known what time they’d be walking home, and which route they’d take.

The man who’d done the negotiating looked at Bokuto pityingly. “Just remember we asked nicely.”

Akaashi struggled, but these men were bigger, stronger than him. “ _Bokuto-san–_ ”

The man chuckled. “Your setter is so worried about you.”

“You leave him out of this,” Bokuto snarled. “You want to take out Fukurodani? You want to take out the Captain? The ace? I’m right here.” Even with three men on him, they seemed to be struggling to hold him back. Bokuto’s hands were balled into fists, his eyes hot with rage.

“You?” said the man. “Bokuto, Bokuto. With so many trips to Nationals, the history of your time at Fukurodani has been well documented. The footage proves that while losing you is a major blow, your teammates are somehow able to pick up the slack for their unreliable ace. I’ve done my research. While you are the ace, you are not pivotal to Fukurodani’s success. _Akaashi Keiji_ , on the other hand,” he said, turning his back on Bokuto to step into Akaashi’s personal space, grabbing his jaw and holding him in place. “The mind behind the tosses. The one who picks you back up when you’re down. It’s two birds with one stone, really.”

“If you hurt Akaashi,” growled Bokuto–

“You’ll what?” asked the man. “You don’t seem to be much of a threat at the moment.”

Bokuto jerked forward, knocking one of his attackers off balance, but they quickly regained purchase as the other two braced against him.

“Don’t worry, we won’t hurt your precious setter too much,” said the man, lifting Akaashi’s chin like he was appraising a prized cattle. “Just enough to take him out of commission for the next game. Where do you think would be best? His hand?”

“Fukurodani will beat Hagetakano, with or without me,” said Akaashi, ignoring his racing pulse, his voice even. “Shall I give you an analysis of how the game will play out? Michikawa Kurose, Hagetakano’s setter. He’s good. Our backup setter’s better. He’s a first-year, but as you have most likely noticed in the _well documented footage_ of Fukurodani history, Fukurodani holds their players to a higher standard. Even if only our first-years were to play, they would _still_ beat Hagetakano. Garei leaves his left side open. Chirika struggles with receives from jump-floaters. Takao is easy to fool with a decoy and Toshi hesitates in his blocks against line shots. I could go on, as there are an unnumerable amount of weaknesses of the Hagetakano team to exploit that further support my claim–”

The man fisted his hand into Akaashi’s hair, tugging his head back. Akaashi hissed as it pulled on his scalp. “For someone so pretty, you’ve sure got a mouth.” He pressed his other thumb over Akaashi’s lips, hard and rough.

“ _Don’t touch him,_ ” snarled Bokuto.

“So angry,” the man said. “I wonder. Was it that I called him pretty, or that I get to touch him like this?” He ran the hand that was in Akaashi’s hair down his neck to settle at the front of his Fukurodani jacket. He grabbed the zipper and pulled down.

Akaashi pulled away by reflex, but the arms holding him kept him in place. His heart pounded as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The man finished unzipping and opened up the flaps of his jacket. He hummed in approval. Akaashi swallowed, his mouth dry. He could feel himself shaking.

Bokuto growled and jerked in the grip of his captors, straining against them, breaking an arm free and decking one in the face, sending them to the ground in a burst of blood– only to double over himself as the man in front of Akaashi turned around to deliver a hard punch to his gut before shoving him onto the ground and kicking him in the side.

“ _Bokuto-san!_ ”

“I said…” said Bokuto, choking and gasping on his hands and knees, “to _leave Akaashi out of this_.”

“I’ll be fine, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. “He only wants to take me out of the next game. That’s a minor injury.”

“It was,” said the man, shaking out his wrist from the punch, “until he pissed me off. How ‘bout I take you out for the rest of the season?”

“We’ll throw the match,” said Bokuto, wrapping an arm around his gut with a wince. “Please. _Please_. Just don’t hurt Akaashi!”

The man appraised him with a frown before shaking his head. “That offer is off the table.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Put him against the wall.”

The men holding Akaashi dragged him to the side of the nearby building, pressing his back up against the brick.

“ _No!_ Akaashi!” But the men were already back on Bokuto, one with blood dripping from their nose, over their lips and down their neck–

The man who was leading the show stalked back over to Akaashi and again fisted his hand in Akaashi’s hair. He leaned in, his lips brushing Akaashi’s ear as he whispered. “You seem like a smart kid. You know the recovery time for a concussion?”

Akaashi swallowed. “There are different contributing factors to take into account–”

The man tightened his grip in his hair. “Ballpark it for me.”

“Two weeks.”

“That’s plenty of time, I think. Don’t you, Akaashi? Would you say I’m being generous?”

The man’s breath was hot on Akaashi’s ear and neck as he spoke. Nausea erupted in Akaashi’s gut. Fingers trailed down the front of his shirt, featherlight and barely there. He wanted to snap them off. They curled into the waistband of his pants and tugged.

“I _asked_ if you thought I was being generous.”

Akaashi grit his teeth. “Very generous.”

The man leaned back and patted Akaashi’s cheek with a smile. “Glad you think so. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Bokuto begged. “Please, don’t hurt him–”

The fist in his hair pulled Akaashi’s head forward and slammed it back–

And the whole world went white.

Akaashi crumpled to the ground, the two men holding him letting him slip from their fingers like water.

“ _AKAASHI!”_

The men holding Bokuto released him and scrambled away, but Bokuto only had eyes for his friend. Their attackers fled, their job complete, and Bokuto crawled to Akaashi’s side, the pain in his gut having faded to a dull ache. He reached out, hands shaking, and carefully scooped Akaashi’s upper body into his arms. His head lolled forward onto Bokuto’s chest. “Bo’kto… san…”

“I’ve got you, Akaashi,” said Bokuto, tears streaming down his face. He pulled out his phone to dial an ambulance even as his other hand gently probed at the back of Akaashi’s head. _Warm. Wet._ Fuck.

Bokuto gave the police their information and held Akaashi, giving him quiet reassurances as they waited. The ride to the hospital was quick. Bokuto was checked over and sent to the waiting room where he called his parents, and they arrived as two puddles of worried mess.

Akaashi’s recovery was slow and painful. Bokuto could tell the second-year was frustrated, not being allowed to read or play volleyball, and he always got the same pinched look on his face when he was suffering from a headache. Bokuto tried to remember to keep his voice at an appropriate volume whenever they were together, but it was something he struggled with.

“How was the match?” Akaashi asked.

“I didn’t hold back,” said Bokuto, his voice dark. The team had been extra motivated. They’d beaten Hagetakano in the first set 25-17, and the second set 25-12, Bokuto having taken thirteen service aces over the course of both matches. The police hadn’t caught the men who’d attacked them, but Bokuto had made sure that Hagetakano suffered a humiliating defeat.

So Fukurodani had qualified for Nationals, and Akaashi would be able to return to the court well before then.

So why did Bokuto still feel like something was out of place? 

“How’s your head,” he asked as he sat down next to Akaashi on his bed.

“It’s fine.”

“You have a headache, though.”

Akaashi frowned.

“I can tell because your face looks like this.” Bokuto scrunched up his face. He looked constipated.

“I sincerely hope you’re exaggerating, Bokuto-san.”

“Okay, maybe not _quite_ like that, but that space between your eyebrows goes all crinkly, right here.” He poked Akaashi between the eyes.

Akaashi looked away. “It hurts a little bit.”

“ _Ne_ , Akaashi…” said Bokuto. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better once I’m allowed to play again.”

“Concussions are dangerous,” said Bokuto, unusually quiet. “He could have really hurt you. I mean, he _did_ hurt you, but…”

“It’s over and done with, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. “It’s not worth worrying about now.”

“But Akaashi–”

“ _I said I don’t want to talk about it_.”

Bokuto snapped his mouth shut.

Akaashi sighed and slumped forward, wrapping his arms around his knees as he tucked them to his chest. “My apologies, Bokuto-san. I’m a little on edge.”

“It’s because you’re in pain and alone all the time,” Bokuto grumbled. “What time are your parents getting home tonight?”

“They’re in Vienna for the week–”

“Akaashi! How long have they been gone?!”

“Ah, for a few days–”

Bokuto launched to his feet in a mask of fury. “You’re recovering from a _concussion_. What the hell is so important in Vienna?”

“I’d like to know, too.”

Bokuto instantly felt bad. Akaashi’s parents were terrible, and Bokuto despised them, but throwing it around in Akaashi’s face like that was a big no-no. “Their loss,” said Bokuto, grabbing Akaashi’s bag and shoving clothes inside. 

“What are you doing?”

“You’re staying with me until they get back.”

Akaashi’s cheeks went pink. “That’s really not necessary–”

“It’s necessary ‘cause I say it is,” said Bokuto, grabbing one of his favorite pajama shirts of Akaashi’s from the floor and stuffing it in the bag. It was oversized and stretched out around the neck. It sagged low over his collar bones and sometimes tipped off a shoulder–

“I can’t just _intrude–_ ”

“You know my parents love you, Akaashi,” said Bokuto softly.

Akaashi swallowed, his eyes stinging. He looked away. “Fine.”

Bokuto pumped a fist into the air. “ _Yes!_ ”

Akaashi’s smile was fond, and his wiping at his eyes less discrete than he probably would have liked.

Bokuto’s parents _loved_ Akaashi, and they had very strong opinions about how Akaashi should be treated while he was in their house, namely: to be spoiled with homecooked meals and showered with love and affection.

Akaashi’s time spent at the Bokuto house was always bittersweet. It was strange how the place had come to feel more like a home than his own, but not surprising.

“ _Ne_ , Akaashi,” said Bokuto that night, staring at the ceiling as they laid on their futons in the dark. “You awake?”

“I’m awake, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto turned on his side so that he was facing Akaashi, their faces only inches apart. Akaashi was careful to keep his gaze on the ceiling.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them,” said Bokuto.

Biting the bullet, Akaashi rolled onto his side to face him. Bokuto’s hair was down, and he was staring at him with such a soft expression, Akaashi thought he might just melt into a puddle.

Bokuto’s voice lowered to a whisper. “And I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Akaashi couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t _I love you,_ so he kept quiet.

“ _Ne_ , Akaashi,” said Bokuto. “Can I…” He inched forward. They were so close. “Can I kiss you?”

Words, again, failed him, so he chose to close the rest of the gap instead.

It was soft and chaste, and when they pulled away the moment was so fragile Akaashi was afraid if he spoke too loud it would break. “I didn’t think you…”

“I didn’t think _you–_ ”

They met each other in the middle again, harder, more desperate. Akaashi clutched at Bokuto’s shirt and pulled him closer, and Bokuto placed a hand on the side of Akaashi’s face, drawing him in.

Bokuto pulled away, and Akaashi tried to follow because he wasn’t _done_ –

“Why are you crying?”

“Oh,” said Akaashi, whipping the tears from his eyes.

“Are you okay?! Did I do something wrong!?”

“I’m _fine_ , you didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why I– I don’t _know_ –”

Bokuto pulled him into a fierce hug because he had some idea. Akaashi had been attacked. He’d gone through a traumatic experience only to spend the following week alone in an empty house. Akaashi had confessed that his parents hadn’t bothered to call since they’d left on their trip. As much as Bokuto hated it, it was how Akaashi had been raised, so now, when he was being offered real love that he deserved and craved–

He was lost among something that should have been comforting and familiar, but was instead foreign and a little bit frightening.

Bokuto held him tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a little bit away from me. Hope it turned out okay.


	5. Locked In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone was shaking him. “Bokuto-san. Bokuto-san. Get dressed. It’s time for breakfast.”  
> Something was wrong.  
> Bokuto’s body rolled over–  
> Except he wasn’t–  
> He didn’t–  
> “Fuck off, Akaashi. You’re not my mom.”  
> He didn’t say that–
> 
> A creature takes over Bokuto's body, and it feeds on chaos (Halloween Special)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Halloween Special! Sorry it's a day late, it just kept getting longer!

Bokuto bounded up the stairs with a “Hey, hey, hey!” He spotted a familiar head of dark, curly hair near the middle of the bus. “Akaashi!” he crooned, mega-watt grin in place. The second-year turned and gave him a flat look. “I wanna sit with you!”

“If you wish, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto dropped into the seat next to him and shoved his duffel underneath. “ _Ne_ , Akaashi, is Kanagawa in Japan?”

“If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be taking a bus, Bokuto-san.”

“Is it in Tokyo?”

“It’s its own prefecture.”

“Is it far?”

“Just under two hours.”

Bokuto groaned and slumped in his seat. “That’s sooo faaar Akaaaashiii.”

“You can handle it.”

“I caaaaan’t!”

A groan from the seat behind them. “Bokuto,” said Konoha, “we haven’t even left the parking lot.”

“If you last the trip without complaining, I have a present for you,” said Akaashi.

Bokuto sat up and leaned in. “Really, Akaashi? You’re not lying? You have a present?”

“Personal space, Bokuto-san.”

“What is it!? What is it what is it what is it what is it–”

“If you’re going to pester me, I’ll keep it.”

“No! I’ll stop! I’ll be quiet! I’ll be good, look!” He sat extra still and straight-backed, staring ahead at the seat in front of him in concentration.

“No need to go quite so overboard, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi, and Bokuto _had_ to look now, because Akaashi sounded fond, and that was such a soft, rare look on his friend’s face. “Just use your indoor voice and you’ll be fine.”

“You can count on me, Akaashi!”

Akaashi winced. “Ah. A little more indoor than that.”

“You can count on me, Akaashi,” he whispered.

“You’re a saint, Akaashi!” called Konoha as the bus engine started.

Bokuto only had to be reminded to lower his voice five times throughout the drive, and he made sure to not pester or complain to Akaashi once. _He brought me a present. What is it what is it what is it–_

When they arrived at the hostile in Kanagawa, Bokuto was practically vibrating with excitement. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Akaashi, even as Coach Yamiji went over their trip one more time.

“Now, I know we’ll practically have the place to ourselves, but that _does not mean_ that you have free reign of the place. Nekomata-san was kind enough to invite us to stay while they’re shut down. That means no running, no late night excursions, no volleyball indoors. I’m talking to you, Bokuto.”

Bokuto snapped to attention.

“If you and Kuroo cause any trouble–”

“We won’t!”

Yamiji looked to Akaashi, almost pleading.

“Don’t worry about it, Coach,” said Akaashi. “I’ll be rooming with Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto beamed. “You wanna room with me!?”

“Everyone grab your things and meet in the lobby,” said Yamiji.

Nekoma’s coach had called Yamiji and proposed a weekend training trip for their two teams. Nekomata’s sister ran a hostile in Kanagawa and had offered it up as a free place to stay while it was shut down for a few days, so they’d rented a bus and booked one of the courts at a nearby rec center for the weekend.

A whole weekend for volleyball. A whole weekend with Akaashi. A whole weekend with Kuroo. _Best weekend ever!_

Akaashi pulled his bag from under their seat and turned, waiting for Bokuto to step into the aisle, but Bokuto just stared at him expectantly.

Akaashi got that exasperated look that Bokuto hoped meant he was secretly pleased but was pretty sure just meant he was annoyed, and rifled through in his bag. He pulled out a little plastic ball and held it out. “Your present,” he said, looking away.

Bokuto took it. It was a gachapan. He pulled apart the plastic casing as the rest of the team unloaded from the bus. Inside was a small, owl keychain.

“You don’t have to use it, or keep it,” said Akaashi, his cheeks pink. “I just saw it and thought of you and it was only a hundred yen–”

“I love it! Akaashi! I’m never gonna put it down!”

“That is impractical.”

Bokuto attached the key ring to his shirt, through one of the holes for his buttons. “It’s perfect!”

Akaashi let out a small laugh. “Bokuto-san… You can’t put it there.”

“Don’t ruin my fun, Akaashi!”

“Bokuto!” Konoha barked, stepping back onto the bus. “Stop flirting with Akaashi and let’s go!”

Bokuto felt his face burn and jumped to his feet. He took off after Konoha and it was only after he’d chased him around the parking lot that he saw Akaashi with two bags over his shoulders and realized he hadn’t grabbed his things. Embarrassment forgotten, he hurried to Akaashi’s side. “You didn’t have to carry my stuff, Akaashi!”

“I did if you wanted to change your clothes this weekend.” Sure enough, the bus was already pulling away.

“Bokuto, Bro, I hope you came ready to lose.”

Bokuto spun around, grinning. “Kuroo! Bro! We’re aiming for no penalties!”

Kuroo was leaning against the entrance of the hostile with his usual smirk in place. “Nice keychain.”

“Akaashi got it for me!”

Kuroo’s smirk widened as he looked to Akaashi. “Did he, now?”

“As pleasant as ever, I see, Kuroo-san,” said Akaashi, still carrying Bokuto’s bag.

The two of them exchanged a look, and there was something there, something that Bokuto was missing, but then Yamiji ushered them inside where the rest of Nekoma stood in the lobby.

“Bokuto, why is Akaashi carrying your bag?” asked Komi.

“ _Gah!_ ” Bokuto grabbed at his bag and pulled– but the strap was still wrapped around Akaashi, so Akaashi sort of came with it– “Akaashi! I’m sorry!”

Akaashi righted himself and pulled the strap over his head before handing the bag to him with a flat expression. Bokuto took it with a sheepish grin. Yamiji and Nekomata went over the rules one more time, telling them to pair up in groups of four for the rooms.

“I call Akaashi!” Bokuto announced, and Konoha snorted.

“I already said I’d room with you, Bokuto-san.”

“Well, they don’t know that,” said Bokuto.

“We still need two more people–”

“Ooh! I call Kuroo!”

“Nice to know where I fall on your list,” said Kuroo. “Well, I call Kenma.”

Kenma, who was in the corner on his 3DS, looked like he couldn’t care less.

“This is gonna be _so much fun!_ ” cried Bokuto, pumping both fists into the air.

“Good luck, Akaashi,” said Konoha as he, Komi, Sarukui, and Washio headed off to find their room having already received their key from Yamiji. Each of them slapped Akaashi’s back in support as they went.

“What did he mean by good luck, Akaashi?” asked Bokuto.

“I believe he was referring to my rooming situation,” said Akaashi. “You and Kuroo-san are not the easiest to babysit.”

“We don’t need babysitting!”

“Yes you do,” said Kenma, not looking up from his game.

“Kenma!” cried Kuroo, betrayed.

Bokuto went to Yamiji for the room key. Yamiji handed it to Akaashi.

Their room was small and cozy, with two pairs of bunks on either side and a raised tatami floor by the window with a low table and floor cushions. They claimed their bunks, Bokuto choosing the one below Akaashi, across from Kuroo, and they unrolled the futons onto them from the cabinets.

“This is so cool!” said Bokuto, tossing his bag onto his futon and rushing to the window. “I can see the rec center!”

Akaashi joined him at the window. “That’s a children’s school, Bokuto-san.”

They went across the street for a late dinner, picking up some food at Lawson’s. They washed up and got ready for bed in the community bathroom, the bath hot and heavenly and Bokuto never wanted to leave–

“We have to go now, Bokuto-san, the bath is closing.”

They crawled into their futons and turned off the lights. “Night, Akaashi,” said Bokuto, content.

“Goodnight, Bokuto-san.”

“Night, Bro.”

“Night, Bro.”

“Night, Kenma.”

Silence.

“Ah. He’s asleep,” said Kuroo, standing up to peek over at Kenma.

“ _So fast!_ ”

But half an hour later, Bokuto still couldn’t sleep. He was too excited for the next day–an entire day of volleyball with his favorite people–

“Kuroo,” Bokuto whispered, “you awake?”

“Yeah. Wanna explore?”

They scrambled out of their beds, careful not to wake Kenma. They weren’t worried about Akaashi, once he was out he was dead to the world.

They found an ice cream vending machine on the first floor of the hostile and freaked out. Bokuto splurged for a Haagen Dazs, and Kuroo settled for a packaged chocolate cone. It was only when they came to a roped off area that Bokuto remembered that Coach had specifically banned him from late night excursions.

“Kuroo! We’re not supposed to be here!”

Kuroo gave him a funny look. “You’re just realizing this now?”

Bokuto’s eyes were drawn back to roped off area, which consisted of just a single closed door at the end of the hall. “ _Ne,_ Kuroo, why is this place shut down?”

“You didn’t hear? Aw, man, Coach gave us all the gnarly details,” said Kuroo. “So his sister owns the place, right? Well, one of the guests tried to kill his own wife in their room. Said he wasn’t in control of his body. Can you believe that? No judge is going to believe that. What a whack-job.”

“Not in control of his body?”

“Yeah, you know, like, he thinks he was possessed or some shit.” Bokuto frowned, and Kuroo grabbed him by the head and ruffled his hair. “What’s that look for? You know he was lying, right? That shit’s not real.”

“ _I know that!_ ” Bokuto shot back.

They returned to the room, Akaashi and Kenma still asleep, and collapsed onto their futons.

Bokuto dreamt of volleyball, and of Akaashi, tossing him a watermelon, and Bokuto spiked it, exploding it into perfect slices that everyone grabbed and ate with a ‘ _you’re so cool, Bokuto-senpai!_ ’

Someone was shaking him. “Bokuto-san. _Bokuto-san_. Get dressed. It’s time for breakfast.”

Something was wrong.

Bokuto’s body rolled over–

Except he wasn’t–

He _didn’t_ –

“Fuck off, Akaashi. You’re not my mom.”

_He didn’t say that–_

Shock registered on Akaashi’s face before hardening into something that was a little bit more like anger, a little bit more like hurt. “I understand you get your moods, Bokuto-san, but I won’t allow you to walk over me. Please calm down in the time that I am not talking to you.” He stalked out of the room, and the slam of the door would have made Bokuto flinch–

_Had he been in control of his own body._

Kuroo. Where was Kuroo? Did he know more about that guy, that guy who’d attacked his wife, who said he’d been possessed? Was the wife okay? Was the guy going to jail? How long had he lost control? How did he stop it? Did the wife believe him? Did the wife hate him? _What the hell was going on?_

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. Akaashi, come back! That wasn’t me! Akaashi!_

_Fuck. Shit._

His body was moving, getting up, getting dressed–

But Bokuto was just along for the ride, because someone, _something_ , was in there with him, and it had an iron grip on the reins. Bokuto searched for a foothold, a loose string, _anything_ that he could grasp to gain back control.

There was nothing.

 _‘What are you?’_ he asked into the black.

 _‘Hungry…’_ It was nothing more than a wispy echo. Bokuto didn’t understand how something that sounded so frail could be so strong. _‘Hungry… Feed…”_

Bokuto watched through his own eyes, a stranger in his own body, as he entered the lobby where the team members of Fukurodani and Nekoma were gathering and snatching _onigiri_ off of a large serving plate. His hand grabbed one, peeling off the wrapper with practiced ease. _‘So once you eat, you’ll leave?’_

_‘Yes…’_

Oh. Well, that wasn’t so bad.

Bokuto’s mouth closed around the _onigiri_. It had spicy salmon in its center. It was a strange feeling to taste, but not be in charge of his tongue.

The creature didn’t leave once he’d finished the rice ball. _‘You need another one?’_ Bokuto asked.

_‘Still… hungry…’_

“Bokuto!” _Kuroo!_ “Akaashi said you’re grumpy this morning?” Kuroo flung an arm around Bokuto’s shoulders and lowered his voice for Bokuto’s ears only. “I know you went to bed late last night, but let’s not let the cat out of the bag, hm? You know Akaashi scares me.”

“Akaashi needs to mind his own damn business.”

Kuroo blinked. “Whoa. You really are in a bad mood. Bo, I get that you’re tired, but what did you say to him? He came out of the room all wound up and snippy.”

_He upset Akaashi._

“He treats me like a child. I don’t need him to take care of me!”

“You love when Akaashi takes care of you. Did something happen?”

But Bokuto never got to know what excuse the creature would use, because Yamiji and Nekomata entered the room, counting them up. “We’re about to head to the rec center, so finish eating if you haven’t yet,” said Nekomata.

Yamiji frowned as he finished counting. “Where’s Akaashi?”

“Uh, bathroom, I think,” said Sarukui.

“Bokuto.”

“On it, Coach!”

Bokuto’s body hurried to the bathroom without his permission.

_‘Feed…’_

_‘What do you eat? I’ll give it to you! I promise! Please, just top being mean! You hurt Akaashi, and that’s not okay!’_

_‘Konton.’_

_‘Hah?’_

_‘Feed… Konton…’_

Konton. _Chaos_.

_‘Oh, um… I don’t have any of that.’_

_‘Guilt… Anger… Fear… Bleeds chaos. Feed. Feed. Feed.’_

_‘You… You tried to murder that girl.’_

_‘So gooooood… Such a good… feed… More… More…’_ The voice was almost obscene.

 _‘Promise you won’t hurt Akaashi,’_ said Bokuto.

_‘No.’_

_‘Promise you won’t hurt Akaashi!’_

_‘No.’_

_‘Promise!’_

_‘No.’_

Bokuto pushed at the thing’s walls, but they wouldn’t budge. He felt claustrophobic, but so much worse than being trapped in a box (one of his nightmares), he was trapped in his own body, with no control over his own limbs or how he deeply he breathed–it was suffocating.

Akaashi was alone in the bathroom, washing his hands. He caught sight of Bokuto in the mirror. “Have you calmed down?” he asked.

“Everyone’s waiting on you, Akaashi,” said the creature with Bokuto’s voice.

Akaashi’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so? I’m sorry to have wasted everyone’s time.”

Bokuto’s body huffed and turned around, leaving Akaashi in the bathroom. He ached at the thought of leaving Akaashi alone while he was upset, but the dread was mixed with bitter relief that the creature wouldn’t be able to hurt him if they were apart.

The thing controlled Bokuto’s body, leading him back to the lobby and tagging along with the group as they walked to the rec center. Bokuto was hyper aware of Akaashi walking alone at the back of the pack, head down. Bokuto wanted to lift his chin, to hug him, to cheer him up, to explain–

But the thing controlling him strode ahead.

It was strange. The creature spoke normally to everyone else, it’s malevolence only ever directed towards one person. The team noticed.

“Lay off Akaashi,” said Konoha, his voice uncharacteristically hard as they took a water break after their warmups. “He looks upset, and Akaashi never looks _anything_ , so he must be pretty fuckin’ upset.”

And then the creature used Bokuto’s mouth to ask Coach that their backup setter be placed in the game instead of Akaashi.

Everyone stared. It was an unbelievable request. Konoha looked furious. He took an aggressive step forward, and Bokuto wished Konoha would punch him, because the look on Akaashi’s face–

But Akaashi held him back. “Bokuto-san makes a good point,” he said, his voice as even as ever, as unaffected as ever, but Bokuto had spent the better part of the last year and a half learning to read his setter, and there was a hardness to Akaashi’s mouth that betrayed him. “Anahori-kun could use the experience. He hasn’t gotten to play against a setter like Kenma-san. We should see how he holds up against a team that relies so heavily on picking apart the other team’s strategy.”

Konoha still looked like he wanted to punch Bokuto. The other third years didn’t look quite driven to violence, not yet, but they were all concerned. They probably thought he and Akaashi were fighting.

Bokuto wished they were fighting.

Bokuto watched as his body spiked Anahori’s sets, always feeling just a little bit off. _Akaashi would have put it just a little bit higher…_

Anahori did well, but once Kenma broke down his habits, Nekoma started scoring back-to-back, and Coach switched him out with Akaashi. Anahori was a good setter, fantastic even, but Kenma was an impossible opponent against someone who wasn’t calm under pressure, and Anahori was _great_ but he was still green.

Akaashi wouldn’t look at Bokuto.

Bokuto felt the hunger of the creature, the excitement, and he was overcome with dread. _‘Please, he’s my friend. Don’t hurt him.’_

Konoha overhand served into the back left corner of Nekoma’s court where Yamamoto was forced to dig, taking their Ace out of play, but it was a good receive and it went right to Kenma, and Bokuto knew where it was going to go–

To Kuroo for a spike–

And Kuroo was tricky, so he was going to aim it right at Akaashi, where there were two possible outcomes, each of them in Nekoma’s favor: Akaashi would either fumble the receive, giving Nekoma the point, or he would make the receive, but it would leave him unable to set.

Akaashi was in position, ready as Kuroo’s hand came down, hitting the ball with a resounding _slap_ –

Akaashi was in position–

So why–

_Why–_

Was Bokuto’s body moving to receive the ball?

Bokuto felt himself collide into Akaashi, knocking him sideways onto the ground with a squeak of his shoes and then of his skin as he hit the floor. Bokuto felt his body receive the ball, but Konoha, their usual backup setter when Akaashi was on the court, didn’t move to set it, instead scrambling forward to kneel down next to Akaashi, examining his floor-burned elbow and palm.

That should be him, checking to see if Akaashi was okay. _That should be him_.

“I’m fine, Konoha-san,” said Akaashi, a slight wobble in his voice. The slip of composure was quickly remedied, his next words steady. “It’s nothing serious. If you would please check on Bokuto-san.”

Konoha stood, but he did not _check on Bokuto-san_ , he marched up to him until they were face to face. “Was that an accident?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

Akaashi, still on the floor, seemed to shrink.

“Of course it was!” came the words from Bokuto’s mouth. Konoha narrowed his eyes. Bokuto felt like he needed to be sick.

Washio helped Akaashi to his feet. Coach called Akaashi over to get looked at on the bench. Anahori was back in the game. Kuroo looked at Bokuto funny across the net, his lips pulled into a frown.

_Please. Please, Kuroo. You know this isn’t me. Something’s wrong. You have to notice. I would never do this. You’re one of my best friends. Please notice. Do something. Don’t let me keep hurting him._

The creature inside him was elated, Bokuto could feel it, like a sickening crawl underneath his skin, the satisfaction at being fed, the hunger for more.

After that, Fukurodani was… off. They were out of sync. Anahori was tense, and his sets were sloppy, and any teamwork between Bokuto and the other third years was strained.

Nekoma beat Fukurodani. 

They were sent to do their penalty, a lap of flying receives, and Akaashi was put back in as starting setter for their next game, the floor-burns angry and red.

Kuroo idled up next to Bokuto before they got into their positions, a strange expression on his face. “You’re usually more aware of the court than that,” he said, calculated.

“Yeah, I guess it got away from me that time!” _It’s not me._

“I can’t believe you’re not fussing over Akaashi,” said Kuroo, and Bokuto could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he prodded and probed with all the right words. “You’re not going to get all depressed because he’s hurt?”

Bokuto felt himself shrug. “He seemed okay to me.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed, before catching on something behind Bokuto and softening. “You okay, Akaashi? That was a nasty fall.”

“I’m fine, Kuroo-san.” Akaashi’s hands were shaking and he wouldn’t look at Bokuto. “We’re ready when you are, Captain.”

Bokuto’s only response was to head onto the court, bumping into Akaashi’s shoulder along the way.

_Please, Kuroo. Notice._

The day did not get better. The creature used Bokuto to berate Akaashi for every mistake, every misstep, and Akaashi just took it. His sets steadily grew more wild, but no one called him out on it, not when he looked _so sad._

It was nearing the end of the last set before their lunch break that Akaashi fumbled a receive and the creature jumped at the opportunity. “This is why we lost Nationals last year!”

Akaashi froze. His team looked dumbfounded. “Are you… blaming me?”

“We could have beat Itachiyama, but you kept screwing up–”

Akaashi flinched, and Konoha _lost it_. He jumped at Bokuto with a snarl, grabbing him by the front of his jersey. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Coach leapt to his feet–

Konoha shook him. “You’re being a real asshole, _Captain,_ ” he spat. “We all lost that day. How could you say that? What’s your fucking problem–”

Coach pulled Konoha off of Bokuto. “That’s enough. Akaashi, Bokuto, with me.”

Akaashi trotted after coach to the far corner of the gym with a pinched sort of expression on his face, Bokuto’s body following without his say.

“Whatever is going on between you two needs to stop _now_ ,” said Yamiji. “Besides affecting your playing, it’s affecting the team. Akaashi.” Akaashi straightened. “Losing Nationals wasn’t your fault. You played well. Itachiyama played the better game.”

“Thank you, Coach,” said Akaashi, his voice small in a way that it should never be.

“Get some water, then get back on the court.”

Akaashi nodded and left.

“Bokuto,” said Yamiji. “You’re off the court for the rest of the day.”

“ _What?!_ But Coach–”

“Your behavior today is _unacceptable_. Your teammates elected you to be Captain. _Act like it_. I’m assuming this is one of your mood swings, which we deal with, but they don’t usually hurt others. Get a handle on yourself before I take you out of play for the entire season.”

Bokuto felt like he had been slapped. He felt like he deserved to be slapped. He knew how self-critical Akaashi could be, he knew he saw himself as an average player on a stellar team, yet Bokuto had said–

The _creature_ had said–

The creature was ruining everything.

Bokuto slammed against the walls in his mind, desperate to get out–

But there was nothing he could do. He was helpless to do anything but watch as the creature ruined the most important relationship Bokuto had.

_‘So… good…’_

_‘Stop it,’_ said Bokuto. _‘Haven’t you had enough?’_

The team, as always, played well without him. Konoha kept shooting him dirty looks from the court, Akaashi didn’t look his way once, and Kuroo still had that calculating look about him.

_Please, Kuroo._

_Please._

_Please, please, please, please…_

The teams were given free reign of the area for lunch, as long as they stayed with a buddy. Akaashi stood there, looking lost as everyone grouped up. It occurred to Bokuto that Akaashi had never had to make a decision like this, because Bokuto always jumped at any and every opportunity to spend more time with him. This was, perhaps, the first time since Akaashi’s arrival at Fukurodani that he felt out of place.

Konoha grabbed Akaashi to join the rest of the third years as Onaga and Anahori peeled off to go to the ramen place they’d seen on their way from the hostile. “We’ve got you, Akaashi,” said Konoha, wrapping an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. “What do you feel like eating?”

Akaashi shrugged.

“How about curry? Katsu? Lawson’s?”

Kuroo and Kenma were talking in hushed voices, glancing over at Bokuto intermittently.

“Kuroo!” cried Bokuto’s voice. “Let’s get all-you-can-eat yakiniku!”

“What am I, made of money?” asked Kuroo, his voice normal, but his eyes…

They were cautious. Analytical.

Kenma’s too.

 _Thank God_.

Lunch was… strange. Kuroo and Kenma acted normal, but their conversation was off–Probably because it was an interrogation. They were subtle about it, but Bokuto could tell.

_It’s not me. It’s not me._

The rest of the day went by agonizingly slow. Already trapped in his own body, Bokuto’s body was now trapped on the bench. He felt like he was going to explode. He’d never done well with inactivity, but this was so much worse, because restrictions had suddenly evolved from _shouldn’t_ to _couldn’t_. Sure he _shouldn’t_ jump up from the bench and beg to be put back in the game, but he always _could have_. But now…

Everything was spiraling. He had no control, and he’d rather die than live like this, trapped, hurting the person he loved, disappointing his coach, his teammates, his friend­s–

It all came to a head after their last match of the day, after their coaches had treated them to dinner and the creature had used Bokuto’s hand to swipe a knife from the table.

Bokuto suddenly felt very cold. _‘What are you doing?’_ Silence. _‘Oi. I said what are you doing!?’_

_Kuroo. We’re out of time._

On the way back to the hostile, Bokuto’s body stopped on the sidewalk and called out. “Akaashi!”

Akaashi froze in front of him. Bokuto could feel the tension in the air, their teammates uncomfortable. Kuroo watched carefully.

“Toss to me?”

Akaashi stared at him, revealing nothing. “Is this your way of apologizing to me, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto felt himself nod. _Don’t believe me, Akaashi. Please. I’d rather you hate me forever–_

“Okay.”

“Akaashi,” said Konoha sharply.

“It’s all right, Konoha-san. I want to hear what he has to say.”

“The rec center is closed,” said Konoha, stubborn.

_Don’t let him, Konoha. Don’t let him be alone with me–_

“The park, then!” suggested Bokuto’s voice. “I’ll grab a volleyball!” He felt himself run over to Onaga, who was carrying the bag of balls, and rifled through it, pulling one out with a grin.

“You think you can just pretend you didn’t treat him like shit all day?” said Konoha, advancing–

Kuroo placed a hand on Konoha’s shoulder, stopping him. “Let him apologize. It’s up to Akaashi whether he wants to listen or not. Bo,” he said, looking to Bokuto, “we’ll be at the hostile. Don’t stay out too late.”

_No. No, Kuroo, what are you doing–_

“We won’t!”

_Someone stop us! Konoha! Konoha please! Coach! Anyone!_

But Nekoma and Fukurodani were turning around, heading back to the hostile. Why? Why were they letting Akaashi go? Why wasn’t _Kuroo_ doing anything? Didn’t he see? Didn’t he expect? Had Bokuto been reading this wrong the entire time, was there really no hope at all?

Bokuto and Akaashi walked side by side, silent as the sky grew darker with the evening, carefully avoiding puddles from an earlier downpour. The park was small and empty, with a playground and a field with a few cherry blossoms, but they were out of season, their branches barren.

Akaashi turned and waited.

 _He was waiting for the ball_. _He had no idea. Run, Akaashi!_

“You’re not Bokuto-san.”

 _What?_ Hope bloomed, and Bokuto felt the creature’s panic spike.

“Of course I am! Who else would I be?”

“You tell me.”

“You’re not making sense, Akaaaaashi–”

“ _Don’t_ ,” said Akaashi, voice hard. “Don’t use his voice. Get out of him.”

The creature sighed. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Kuroo-san.” Bokuto hadn’t seen Kuroo pull Akaashi aside, but the fact that Akaashi knew it wasn’t him at the reigns made him weak with relief. “And Bokuto-san would never hurt me.”

“But you thought it was him,” said the creature, and now that he’d given up the guise, Bokuto’s voice was different. Wispy and light and drawling. “This whole time, you thought he’d finally given up on you. I see how you look at him. He may have been too much of an idiot to realize it, but I’m not. He hurts you every day with his ignorance. You’re in love with him, and you’re afraid to tell him.”

_What?_

Akaashi stiffened. “Get out of him.”

“He’s in here with me, you know. Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened, and for the first time, Bokuto saw something in them like fear–

“Ohhhh, poor Akaashi. He’s _disgusted_.”

Akaashi took a step back.

“Did you really think he could ever love you? You, who always takes more out of a relationship than you can give. How could someone like you ever be enough for someone like him, who bleeds warmth and emotion? How could he ever love someone so cold? So empty?”

Akaashi looked devastated.

Bokuto felt it, the high of the creature as it fed off the chaos and despair.

And it was still hungry.

_Akaashi, run. Please, run. Get far, far away from me._

The creature used Bokuto’s body to advance and slowly wrap his arms around Akaashi’s trembling frame in a terrible, skin-crawling hug. It leaned down to whisper into Akaashi’s ear as Akaashi shivered.

“Thanks, Akaashi,” it whispered. “You’ve been _delicious–_ ”

And Bokuto felt his hand plunge the knife into Akaashi’s side. He felt the rip and tear resonate up his arm as Bokuto screamed and thrashed against the walls that bound him–

But his hand remained steady.

Akaashi’s breathing hitched, and when Bokuto’s body pulled back, Akaashi’s eyes were wet and wide with shock–

 _“Akaashi!”_ It was Kuroo, and Kenma. But they were too late– _they were too late_ –

Akaashi crumpled as Kuroo tackled Bokuto to the ground and the creature used his body to struggle–Kuroo forced Bokuto’s mouth open and poured something in–

And Bokuto felt the walls around him waver.

Kuroo placed his hand over Bokuto’s nose and mouth as the creature struggled against swallowing–

But a body’s reflex was a powerful thing–

He swallowed, and the creature scrambled to keep purchase on his mind–

But it was growing weaker as its consciousness and control withered into nothing–

Until it was gone.

Killed by whatever Kuroo had given him.

Bokuto shook and gasped as Kuroo released him, as control over his own body returned, and he started _sobbing_ –

“ _Akaashi!”_ he crawled over to where Akaashi lay, Kenma’s hands stained red as he kept pressure on the wound. Akaashi was awake, shaking, and Bokuto was afraid to touch him. “Akaashi, _I’m sorry!_ I’m sorry, it wasn’t me! It wasn’t me, I swear! I would never– I would _never hurt you–_ ”

Akaashi raised a shaking hand to Bokuto’s cheek and smiled softly. “I know…”

“No. No, no, no, you’re okay, Akaashi. You have to be okay!”

A pained laugh. “Of course I’ll be okay. You stabbed me with a _dinner knife_ , Bokuto-san. I’m not gonna die.”

“But you’re hurt… What took you so long, Kuroo,” snapped Bokuto, tears streaming down his face. “I know you figured it out! Why did you leave Akaashi with me!?”

“I didn’t know you had a _knife._ How about some gratitude?” said Kuroo. “Do you know how difficult it was to get ahold of the stuff that just _saved your ass_?”

The bitter taste lingered. “What was that, anyway?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

They took Akaashi to the hospital where he was stitched up. An attempted mugging, Akaashi claimed. No, he didn’t see the person’s face, and he was lucky Bokuto had been there to scare them away. Bokuto was made out to be the hero, and it made him feel like shit.

That night, at the hostile, Bokuto couldn’t sleep. He kept having short, terrible dreams where he was trapped in his own body as Akaashi bled out in front of him–

“Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto scrambled upright and down the ladder, he and Akaashi having switched bunks for the night so the second-year wouldn’t have to climb with his injury, and he knelt at Akaashi’s bedside. “What is it? Is it hurting? Do you need water? Do you want me to leave? Are you okay?”

“I heard you tossing,” said Akaashi. “You seemed distressed.”

“I’m so sorry, Akaashi–”

“I’ve already told you it wasn’t your fault.”

“I couldn’t do anything but _watch_ as that thing– Everything it did, everything it said– It was all a lie, you know that, right?”

“Of course.”

“But you believed it, at first…” Bokuto would never forget the sad look that had been on his friend’s face.

Akaashi shrugged, fiddling with his hands.

“Nothing it said was true. Especially… Especially what he said about you… being cold, and empty. You’re not.”

Akaashi picked at his blanket. “Ah. That part… may have actually been more true than not, Bokuto-san. Compared to you–”

“You’re not,” Bokuto repeated. “You’re so warm, Akaashi. You just show it differently than I do.” Akaashi’s lip trembled, and Bokuto grabbed his hand, not expecting Akaashi to latch onto it like he did.

“Stay with me?” It was a ridiculous request. The bunks were small, the futons even more so, but Bokuto crawled in next to Akaashi anyway.

“I know you’re not empty,” said Bokuto, pulling Akaashi into his chest as they laid there. “And I know how warm you are. And that thing was wrong. It’s… so, _so_ easy to love you, Akaashi.”

Akaashi’s breathing hitched and Bokuto held him tighter. “ _I love you,_ ” Akaashi choked.

Everything was bundled up into those three words: Akaashi’s hurt from the day’s events, his fear and doubt that it wasn’t just one of Bokuto’s moods, that he really meant what he was saying, that the cruelty was intentional–

“You’re amazing,” said Bokuto.

“ _Oi_ ,” called Kuroo from his bunk across the room. “I get it, you love each other, it’s not something the rest of us didn’t already know.”

Bokuto felt his face flush. “Fuck you, Kuroo!”

Kuroo snickered. “I mean, seriously, I’m happy for you guys, but I’m tired, and so is Akaashi, so go the fuck to sleep.”

They stopped talking, but they didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Bokuto too afraid to relinquish control, and Akaashi too afraid that this was all a dream. They laid there, tucked into their own little corner of the world.

Akaashi was out of the games for the rest of the weekend, and Bokuto had to do major damage control. He apologized to the Coach, and the team. Akaashi vouched for him, saying his new medication had some side-effects like aggression and personality changes. Bokuto wasn’t _on_ any new medication, he’d been on the same stuff since he was thirteen, but the team seemed to buy it, even if Konoha wasn’t quite ready to forgive him yet.

“Nationals last year,” said Bokuto as they packed up their things and moved their sheets to the laundry basket down the hall. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“You don’t have to keep trying to make it up to me, Bokuto-san.”

“That’s not what I’m– I just want to make sure you know that I don’t really think that, Akaashi! You were amazing! You were just a first year, and you stood on the court against a nationally ranked team! You stood on the court _with_ a nationally ranked team. You wouldn’t have been in the starting lineup if you didn’t deserve to be there.”

Akaashi dropped his sheets in the bin after Bokuto’s. “Thank you, Bokuto-san,” he said, his words quiet.

“Akaashi!” Ah, shit, it was Konoha. “What the hell are you doing walking around?”

“It was a minor stab wound, Konoha-san.”

“A minor–” Konoha spluttered.

“I am merely fulfilling my responsibility as a guest and recycling my sheets.”

“So make Bokuto do it!”

Akaashi’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and paled. “Excuse me.”

Bokuto and Konoha watched him walk down the hall, far enough away so they wouldn’t hear, but plenty close enough for them to read his body language.

“It’s his mom, isn’t it?” said Konoha. “Her son was _stabbed_ and all she can do is call? Please tell me she’s been stuck in Tokyo traffic for two days and not just ignoring that her son was in the hospital.”

“She didn’t want to cut her vacation short,” said Bokuto, making no effort to mask the fury in his own voice.

Konoha looked at him, his gaze sharp. “I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

“I know.”

“You may have redeemed yourself a little when you stopped that mugger, but I’m still sixty percent angry with you.”

“I’m angry at myself,” said Bokuto.

“He doing okay?”

Bokuto nodded. “He showed me his stitches! It looks so small…”

“Bet it still hurts like a bitch. We’re lucky it didn’t hit his spine or anything else important.”

Lucky.

Lucky that Bokuto hadn’t killed his best friend.

He wondered about the man who’d tried to kill his wife. He wondered if they’d been possessed by the same thing. He wondered if the wife believed that he’d been possessed, or if she thought he’d really tried to kill her. He wanted to know what that _thing_ even was, and whether there were more of them.

Mostly, he just wanted to forget about all of it.

But Bokuto wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life.


	6. Rice Porridge and Pristine Kitchens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Happy birthday…” said Bokuto, distracted, as he took in all the flashing red warning signs: the unkempt hair, the pale skin, the sleeves of Bokuto’s Waseda University sweater that drooped over his hands… “Akaashi, you…” You’re wearing my sweater. “You’re sick.”

“Kuroo! Don’t wait up for me!”

Kuroo sighed. “I know, Bo, I’m not gonna forget.”

“You going somewhere, Bo-kun?” asked Oikawa from the kitchen.

Bokuto zipped up his coat with a mega-watt grin. “I’m visiting Akaashi!”

Oikawa poked his head out of the kitchen with a smug look on his face. “Oya? The setter you never shut up about? Is it a date?”

Bokuto flapped his hands in denial as his face turned scarlet. “It’s not like that! It’s his birthday, and I wanted to surprise him.”

“With sex?”

“No!”

Oikawa leaned forward with a sly grin. “Playing the long game?”

“The longest,” grumbled Kuroo from his spot on the couch.

“Kuroo!” cried Bokuto.

“What? I’ve only watched you two be sickeningly in love for three years–”

“What about you and Kenma?”

Kuroo’s face flushed. “That’s different.”

“How? How is that different?”

“I’ve known Kenma my whole life,” said Kuroo. “There’s a preexisting dynamic. I can’t just drop a bombshell like that on him without any warning, I have to ease him into the idea.”

Oikawa flopped down next to Kuroo. “Mm. Like a trap.”

“Like a– What–? No! Not like a trap, like– like a slow, natural progression–”

“I trapped Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa, shameless.

“You–?”

“By being so perfect and flawless that no mortal could resist me! Not even Iwa-chan!”

“Really?” said Kuroo with a smirk. “That’s not what Iwaizumi said.”

Oikawa’s grin fell. “You talked to Iwa-chan about me? What did he say? What did he say? Kuroo! _What did he say?_ ”

“He said you begged him to go out with you for weeks before he agreed just to get you to shut up.”

Oikawa reddened. “That’s– That’s not–” He stood. “I’m calling him right now.”

Bokuto laughed. “I’ll probably stay at Akaashi’s tonight, so don’t wait up, Kuroo–”

“Bo! _I know!_ ”

“I’ll be back for tomorrow’s practice–”

“Are you leaving or not?”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whined, his cell phone to his ear, “I’m at Bo-kun’s, and you won’t believe what Tetsu-chan just said to me!”

“Don’t wait up–”

“ _Goodbye, Bo_.”

Bokuto grabbed his backpack stuffed with Akaashi’s present and shut the door, drowning out Oikawa’s high, offended cry of “Iwa-chan!” with a skip in his step. When he’d started college, he’d gone through a serious period of Akaashi withdrawal. He was better at handling it now, and he tried to visit as often as he could–because even one day without Akaashi was too many days without Akaashi–but Bokuto had classes, and volleyball, and Akaashi had school and was captain of Fukurodani, so the days their schedules meshed were few and far between. Bokuto had to settle with talking to Akaashi on the phone and an occasional visit when he could swing it.

He hadn’t been able to swing it in a while. Bokuto hadn’t seen Akaashi in two months–It was the longest he’d gone without seeing him since he’d met him. God, he missed Fukurodani. He loved his new team, and Oikawa was perhaps one of the best setters Bokuto had ever seen, but he wasn’t Akaashi.

No one came close to being Akaashi.

Bokuto couldn’t sit still the entire train ride back home. His University wasn’t too far from Fukurodani, still being in Tokyo, but it was on the opposite end of the city, making it a two hour train ride. Bokuto bounced his leg up and down and tried to conceal his grin. He wondered what face Akaashi would make when he showed up at his house. Akaashi would probably try to act all cool and unsurprised, but he’d secretly be really excited. Bokuto could always tell. When Akaashi was really happy, he’d cover his mouth or turn away to hide his smile–which was really a bummer because Akaashi had a beautiful smile.

By the time the train reached the stop closest to home, it was dark out. Bokuto normally didn’t like to make the two hour train ride when he had to be back for practice the next day, but Akaashi’s birthday was a special case.

The walk was a familiar one, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He passed the convenience store that he and Akaashi used to stop at after practice. He passed the vending machine on the corner where Akaashi used to buy him a Pocari Sweat when it was hot. He passed the park where Akaashi and him would go to practice volleyball when the gym was closed.

The streets were lit by lamps and the narrow roads were quiet. As he walked, the houses started to get bigger. Nicer. The cars parked in the driveways got more expensive, until he finally reached the Akaashi house. As grand and beautiful as it was, Bokuto had always felt a little bit lonely looking at it.

There weren’t any lights on inside, as far as he could see, and there wasn’t a car in the driveway. Bokuto’s stomach dropped. _What if Akaashi wasn’t home?_ It was his birthday. His _eighteenth_ birthday. Odds were, he was out, having his first legal drink, surrounded by friends and strangers alike who would no doubt notice how beautiful he was, what an amazing person he was, and use his inexperience with alcohol against him so they could take advantage of him while he was vulnerable and–

Bokuto slammed his fist against the front door. “Akaashi!” he called, terrified, knocking faster, faster, _faster–_

The door swung open, revealing a terribly pale, terribly exhausted, profoundly miserable looking Akaashi Keiji.

“Akaashi…” said Bokuto, his fist hovering where it no longer connected with the door.

It took a moment for Akaashi to register just who it was that had been pounding on his front door. “Bokuto-san?” he said, his voice weak and slightly exasperated. He was definitely surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Happy birthday…” said Bokuto, distracted, as he took in all the flashing red warning signs: the unkempt hair, the pale skin, the sleeves of Bokuto’s Waseda University sweater that drooped over his hands… “Akaashi, you…” _You’re wearing my sweater._ “You’re sick.”

Akaashi picked at a seam on the sleeve–of _Bokuto’s sweater_. How long had Bokuto been looking for that? How long ago had he left it Akaashi’s? How long had Akaashi been wearing it? “I… Yes, Bokuto-san, I am feeling… slightly under the weather. So thank you for coming, it really means a lot to me, but it’s probably best that you not be around me today. You can’t afford to get sick and have it affect your volleyball performance–”

“You’re _sick_ , Akaashi!” Bokuto grabbed Akaashi’s shoulders and held him steady, taking him in. “How long have you been sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Have you been eating? And hydrating! Hydration is important!”

Akaashi took Bokuto’s wrists and pried him off with an amused huff. “I’m fine, Bokuto-san. It’s just a fever.”

Bokuto blinked, still in awe at seeing Akaashi in his oversized maroon sweater with the diamond Waseda logo on it. It was Bokuto’s secret desire personified: that Akaashi would attend Waseda with Bokuto after he graduated Fukurodani.

But there were more important things, right now.

Bokuto gently pushed his way inside and slipped off his shoes.

“Bokuto-san–”

“You haven’t eaten, have you?”

Akaashi looked away.

He thought of the empty driveway. “And your parents aren’t home.”

Akaashi shook his head. Bokuto took his hand and led him into the living room, flicking on the light and pushing him onto the couch. “Bokuto-san–”

“Sit.”

“I don’t need–”

“Please.”

Akaashi stalled, frustrated and embarrassed.

“How long have they been gone this time?” Akaashi seemed to shrink. “Keiji.”

Akaashi turned a startling shade of red. “You–” he said, glaring. “Two weeks.” He saw Bokuto’s face fall and sighed. “Don’t.”

Bokuto shut his mouth. Of course Akaashi wouldn’t want to hear it. Not today. Not when Bokuto had said it all a thousand times. But… “On your _birthday?_ ”

“Can we drop it?” Akaashi snapped.

Bokuto winced. “Yeah, I– Sorry, Akaashi. I’ll make you some food.” He grabbed a throw blanket off one of the sitting chairs–stiff and expensive, just like Akaashi’s parents–and draped it over Akaashi before heading into the kitchen.

The marble countertops were spotless. The kitchen was pristine. There wasn’t an ounce of evidence that it had ever been used at all, which was just the way Akaashi’s parents liked it. The fact that–despite his parents being gone for two weeks, despite Akaashi being sick–the standard of cleanliness had not dropped meant one thing: Akaashi didn’t know when his parents would be back.

It wasn’t the first time Akaashi’s parents had taken off. It was a regular occurrence that Bokuto hadn’t gotten used to in his three years of knowing Akaashi, but he did know that with his parents gone, Akaashi could relax a little in his own house. He’d leave the dishes for a night or two. He wouldn’t make his bed. He’d bring home cheap, greasy takeout and eat it in his room.

But the kitchen looked unlived in, which meant Akaashi didn’t feel like he could relax, which meant his parents could be home within the next five minutes, or they could be another two weeks.

Bokuto searched one of the cabinets for a _donabe_ pot and filled it with some rice and water. He peered back into the living room to see Akaashi sulking on the couch, the blanket curled around him.

As Bokuto waited for the rice to finish soaking, he couldn’t help but think of the first few times he’d been to Akaashi’s house. There had been the first time: an emergency study session after Bokuto had locked himself out of his own house the evening before a big test. He hadn’t thought anything of it when he’d showed up at Akaashi’s doorstep to find Akaashi alone. Parents were busy. Hell, Bokuto’s parents had been away that day, too. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t unusual.

And the next time Bokuto had visited, because he was bored, Akaashi had been home alone again, but Bokuto still didn’t pay it much mind.

And then again, when Bokuto showed up for an impromptu spiking practice one weekend.

And again, when Bokuto and Akaashi had to run home in the rain and Akaashi’s house was closer.

And again.

And again and again and again–

“Hey, you know I’ve never met your parents?” Bokuto said one evening as they worked on putting together new volleyball plays at Akaashi’s dinner table.

“Hm.”

Bokuto waited for Akaashi to elaborate, but he didn’t. “They have busy jobs?”

“They do,” said Akaashi, pulling the diagram closer. “This strangely shaped blob here, Bokuto-san, is that supposed to be Konoha-san?”

“Akaashi! That’s me!”

“Ah. I see. Is that supposed to be your hair? How juvenile.”

“ _Akaashi_! Don’t be mean!”

It wasn’t until Akaashi was sick one day at school, until he _collapsed at practice_ , that it was brought up again.

“You have a fever, Akaashi,” said Coach, kneeling before Akaashi on the bench, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Call your parents to pick you up. You’re not practicing like this.”

“They’re not home.”

Bokuto froze.

“It’s fine. I can just walk.”

Coach looked troubled. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you walking home like this. Isn’t there anyone you can call?”

Akaashi’s fingers clenched their grip around the edge of the bench.

“I’ll walk him home, Coach!”

Akaashi looked annoyed. “Bokuto-san, there is still a half-hour left of practice. You can’t–”

“You’re more important than volleyball, Akaashi.”

Akaashi’s face went pink. Bokuto could hear Komi snickering from the serveing line of the court.

“Konoha!” Bokuto called. “You’re interim captain while I’m gone, okay?”

“Why does Konoha get to be captain?” whined Komi.

“Komi, you can be vice.”

A terrible, terrifying grin spread over Komi’s face. “We all know, at Fukurodani, the vice is the one with _real_ power.”

The rest of the team blanched as Bokuto helped Akaashi pack up his things. He let Akaashi lean on him while they walked. “ _Ne_ , Akaashi?”

“What is it, Bokuto-san?” He sounded tired.

“Your parents… They’re gone a lot, aren’t they?”

And perhaps it was the fever, or perhaps Akaashi was simply too tired to deny it. “They are.”

“Oh.” Bokuto frowned. “How often is a lot?”

“Depends on the week.”

“Do you miss them?”

Akaashi turned wide eyes on Bokuto, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Not really,” he admitted.

Bokuto’s frown deepened. “But aren’t you lonely?”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, Bokuto-san.”

A horrible, icy feeling started to creep into Bokuto’s heart, and he hadn’t known it then, but it wouldn’t ever leave, and it would only grow colder and heavier as time wore on. “You can live with me,” said Bokuto.

Akaashi let out a soft laugh and Bokuto beamed. “Thank you, Bokuto-san, but I don’t think that’s necessary. I have a perfectly good bed at home.”

“Then I’ll sleep over!”

Akaashi sighed. “Again, unnecessary–”

“But is it unwanted?”

Akaashi didn’t seem to know how to respond to that.

“I’ll stay over whenever you’re lonely, Akaashi, so promise you’ll tell me when you are, okay?”

Akaashi looked away and nodded.

Akaashi never did tell Bokuto when he was feeling lonely, but Bokuto could always tell. He’d be quieter on their walk to school, sometimes he’d sit closer to Bokuto at lunch, and he’d space out at practice. On these days, Bokuto would grab an overnight back the second he got home and race back to Akaashi’s, who always stepped back to let him in with an exasperated shake of his head and an “I really am fine, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto liked to think he’d helped. If even one of those nights, he’d helped Akaashi feel a little less alone, it was all worth it.

The rice had finished soaking. Bokuto drained the water before adding more, putting on the lid and setting it on the stove on high heat. When it started to boil, he stirred it lightly before turning down the heat to let it simmer.

For a long time, Bokuto had known Akaashi was lonely. He’d been angry at Akaashi’s parents for never being home, and for a long time, he’d thought Akaashi looked forward to their return.

Then he’d met them.

Bokuto dropped by unannounced at Akaashi’s so often, he no longer bothered to knock. He’d burst through the front door with his overnight bag and a grin and a “Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi! I brought the pork buns!”

Akaashi’s mother was tall, slender, and beautiful, with thin lips and dark hair. She looked a lot like Akaashi, but her eyes were cold and critical and Bokuto could practically feel himself being judged. Her eyes were _nothing_ like Akaashi’s.

Nor were, it seemed, his father’s.

Their gazes were suffocating.

For the first time in his life, Bokuto was afraid to speak.

Hurried footsteps– and there, Akaashi, out of breath as he came down the stairs–

 _“Keiji._ ” Her voice was _ice_.

Akaashi stiffened. The panic that had been on his face melted away to be replaced by nothing at all. “Bokuto-san,” he said, his voice level and calm. “I texted you not to come.”

“Oh, I…” What was wrong with him? He’d never had trouble speaking before. He’d never had to dissect his words before he spoke them before. Not like this. He’d grown up being told to _think before you speak, Bokuto_ , because his mouth sort of just ran with his mind, because what was the point of holding anything back? He exercised some control during classes, but he didn’t typically worry what other people thought of him, because life was too short to be caught up in _what-ifs_ and _what do they think of me?_

But this…

He felt like he was standing on a crumbling edge, and usually, he wouldn’t care, he’d step right off, he’d _jump_ off, head first–

But for some inexplicable reason, he felt like Akaashi would be the one to fall.

“Sorry, Akaashi,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I forgot my phone.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Keiji,” said Akaashi’s mother.

Akaashi’s hands clenched into fists. “Bokuto-san, these are my parents, Akaashi Haruhi and Akaashi Aito. _Okaasan_ , _Outousan_ , this is the senpai I told you about, Bokuto Koutarou.”

Haruhi pursed her lips. “The volleyball player.”

“Fukurodani’s team captain and ace,” said Akaashi.

The usual rush of pride didn’t come. “ _Hajimemashite_ ,” said Bokuto, bowing low. “ _Yoroshiku onegaishimasu._ ” Using both greetings might have been a bit overkill, but Bokuto felt he had to use every ounce of manners he had in his arsenal.

“You’re a third year, Bokuto-kun?” asked Haruhi.

“ _Hai_.”

“And what career are you planning on pursuing?” she asked. “Have you picked a college?”

“Well, the plan is to go to a college with a good volleyball team and go pro–”

“Do you think it’s wise to bet your future on such a childish dream?”

“ _Okaasan_ ,” said Akaashi.

“Watch how you speak to me, Keiji,” she said, and Akaashi’s mouth clicked shut.

“It was lovely meeting you, Bokuto-kun,” said Aiko, his voice hard. “I assume you and Keiji had plans, but I’m afraid my son has a prior engagement he must attend to. I hope this isn’t too inconvenient for you.”

“No!” said Bokuto, waving his hands. “Not at all! I’ll… We can reschedule. It wasn’t important.”

“Well,” said Aito. “It’s good to know Keiji has an abundance of free time on his hands that he can waste with unimportant matters.”

Akaashi paled.

“Not– Not _unimportant_ ,” said Bokuto, panicking, “just, more like, it’s okay to reschedule because– while it is _important_ , I’m sure what he needs to do is important too, so–”

“Let me walk you out,” said Akaashi, grabbing Bokuto by the wrist and pulling him back outside. He shut the door with a little more force than was necessary.

“I’m sorry, Akaashi!” said Bokuto, not understanding why, but knowing he’d caused some sort of trouble for his friend. “I tried to be polite like you, but I think I only made it worse!”

“It’s all right, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi with a weary sigh. “I’m sorry we can’t watch the match like I promised. Please enjoy the pork buns without me.”

“We can just watch it tomorrow,” said Bokuto, disturbed that the match was what Akaashi was focused on.

“But it won’t be live–”

“I don’t care about that,” said Bokuto. “Are you gonna be okay? Your parents…” _are scary. Really, really scary._ “They didn’t seem happy that I stopped by.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Akaashi. “I really have to go now, Bokuto-san.” He turned away, before peeking back at him with a look that was almost desperate. “We’ll watch the match tomorrow?”

“Of course, Akaashi!”

Akaashi turned away, hiding a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“ _Ja, ne_ , Akaashi!”

Akaashi disappeared back inside. Bokuto checked his pockets to confirm that he really had forgotten his phone when he heard Akaashi’s mother through the door.

“ _Don’t walk away while I am talking to you_.”

Bokuto turned around, curious, to see the warped shadows of Haruhi and Akaashi through the opaque windows on either side of the front door. 

“You tried to talk back to me _in front of a guest,_ Keiji.”

“You were being unkind to Bokuto-san.”

“He’s throwing his life away. If his own mother won’t tell him, someone has to.”

“Bokuto-san is a brilliant player. I believe he will succeed in his endeavor to go pro–”

“Of course _you_ think that, Keiji.” Her voice was so worn. Patronizing. “You’ve had everything handed to you on a silver platter. You don’t understand that some things in life are impossible–”

“It’s not–”

“ _Do not interrupt me._ ”

Bokuto shouldn’t be listening to this. He started backing away–

“What were you two planning on doing tonight?” that was Aiko’s voice.

“Argentina is playing Japan–”

“A _volleyball match_ , Keiji?” said Haruhi. “You already waste hours on that sport every day, and now you’re taking even more time out from your studying–”

“My grades are fine–”

“ _Fine_ isn’t good enough–”

“I’m top of my class,” snapped Akaashi. “What more do you want from me?”

“We _want_ you to succeed, Keiji” said Aiko, “but you keep disappointing us.”

Bokuto ran. He felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to cry.

From then on, Bokuto knew. He knew that Akaashi’s parents were terribly cold and terribly strict, like a harsh winter wind. Their absence left Akaashi all alone in a big, empty house, but their presence was a pressing weight, a constant pressure hanging over him.

Bokuto pulled the _donabe_ off the burner and poured the _okayu_ into a bowl, sprinkling in some salt before cracking an egg over it. He grabbed a deep soup spoon and mixed. He knew his rice porridge wasn’t as good as his mom’s, which he had sufficient evidence that Akaashi _loved_ since he scarfed down multiple helpings whenever she made it, but he hoped Akaashi would enjoy it anyway. He carried the bowl into the sitting room to see Akaashi slumped on the couch, fitfully dozing.

Bokuto set the bowl down on the low _chabudai_ table in front of one of the floor cushions and gently shook Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi woke, bleary-eyed and confused.

“Hey,” said Bokuto softly. “I made you some _okayu_. You should eat it before it gets cold.”

Akaashi sat up and rubbed his face. He spotted the bowl on the table and interest sparked in his eyes. He shuffled from his spot on the couch to kneel on the cushion and quickly scooped up a bite.

“Wait! It’s hot!”

Akaashi sighed, content. “ _Oishii_. _Arigatou_ , Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto kneeled on the cushion across from him. “Anytime, Akaashi,” he said softly.

Akaashi must have heard the emotion in his voice because he looked up, startled. “ _Oi_ …”

“Ahhhh…” said Bokuto, wiping his eyes, frustrated. “ _Gomen ne_ , Akaashi. I know you don’t want– I just really wanted you to have a good birthday? And you’re sick, and your parents left you alone again, and–”

“Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto peeked out at him from behind his hands. Akaashi was smiling softly, and Bokuto’s mouth dropped open.

“Thank you for coming. I really am glad you’re here. It was a wonderful surprise. The best present I could have asked for.”

Bokuto felt his face heat up. “Present?! No! This isn’t your– I just wanted to be with you for– I have your actual present right here!” Bokuto grabbed his bag and pulled out the giant stuffed owl he’d bought for Akaashi two weeks ago and thrust it at Akaashi.

Akaashi blinked, his eyes wide, before _laughing_. He was laughing and he was smiling and his hands were busy holding the owl so he couldn’t _hide_ it–

Bokuto had never felt more content–

More at home–

And screw Kuroo and Oikawa for rushing him, because this–

_This–_

Bokuto could be happy with just this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little fluffier than what I usually write, but I had a lot of fun. Hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> I am working on this in tandem with Tata Kundara Oreru Mazen, a collection of unrelated iwaoi oneshots.


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